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BILLY GOES ALOFT BIRD-CATCHING. -Page 139. 



THE FLOATING LIGHT 


OP 


THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


& ‘lak. 



O' 

d 

s/ 


By R M. BALL ANT YNE, 

> i 


iOTH^E OF "ERLINGO'HE BOLD;” "DEEP DOWN;" “ THE LIFEBOAT 
u THE LIGHTHOUSE “ FIGHTING THE FLAMES j” Eta 


1 



PHILADELPHIA : 

PORTER & COATES, 





PREFACE. 


This tale, reader — if you read it through — will give 
you some insight into the condition, value, and vicis- 
situdes of the light-vessels, or floating lighthouses, 
which guard the shores of this kingdom, and mark the 
dangerous shoals lying off some of our harbours and 
roadsteads. It will also convey to you — if you don’t 
skip — a general idea of the life and adventures of some 
of the men who have manned these interesting and 
curious craft in time past, as well as give you some 
account of the sayings and doings of several other per- 
sonages more or less connected with our coasts. May 
you read it with pleasure and profit, and — “ may your 
shadow never be less." 

I gratefully express my acknowledgment and tender 
my best thanks to the Elder Brethren of the Trinity 
House, to whose kindness I am indebted for having been 
permitted to spend a week on board the Gull-stream 
light-vessel, one of the three floating-lights which mark 
the Goo I win Sands ; and to Robin Allen, Esq., Secre- 
tary to the Trinity House, who has kindly furnished 


iv 


PREFACE. 


me with valuable books, papers, and information. I 
have also gratefully to tender my best thanks to Captain 
Vaile, District Superintendent under the Trinity House 
at Ramsgate, for the ready and extremely kind manner 
in which he afforded me every facility for visiting the 
various light-vessels and buoys of his district, and for 
observing the nature and duties of the service. 

To the master of the Gull, whose “bunk” I occupied 
while he was on shore — to Mr. John Leggett, the mate, 
who was in command during the period of my visit — 
and to the men of the “ Floating-light ” I have to offer 
my heartfelt thanks for not only receiving me with 
generous hospitality, but for treating me with hearty 
goodwill during my pleasant sojourn with them in their 
interesting and peculiar home. 

My best thanks, for much useful and thrilling infor- 
mation, are due to Mr. Isaac Jarman, the coxswain, and 
Mr. Fish, the bowman, of the Ramsgate Lifeboat — men 
who may be said to carry their lives continually in their 
hands, and whose profession it is to go out at the call 
of duty and systematically grapple with Death and 
rob him of his prey. To the Harbour Master, and 
Deputy Harbour Master at Ramsgate, I am also in- 
debted for information and assistance, and to Mr. Reid, 
the master of the Aid steam-tug which attends upon, 
and shares the perils of, the Lifeboat. 

R. M. BALLANTYNE. 

Edinburgh, 1870. 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. I. — PARTICULAR INQUIRIES, ...... 

II. — THE FLOATING LIGHT BECOMES THE SCENE OF FLOAT- 
ING SURMISES AND VAGUE SUSPICIONS, . 

HI.— A DISTURBED NIGHT ; A WRECK AND AN UNEXPECTED 
RESCUE, 

IV. — A NEW CHARACTER INTRODUCED, .... 

V. — MORE NEW CHARACTERS INTRODUCED, ... 

VI. — THE TEMPTER AND THE TEMPTED, .... 

VH. — TREATS OF QUEERER AND OTHERS — ALSO OF YOUTHFUL 
JEALOUSY, LOVE, POETRY, AND CONFUSION OF IDEAS, 

Vm. — THE SLOOP NORA— MR. JONES BECOMES COMMUNICA' 
TIVE, AND BILLY TOWLER, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 
HIS LIFE, THOUGHTFUL, 

IX. — MR. JONES TAKES STRONG MEASURES TO SECURE HIS 
ENDS, AND INTRODUCES HIS FRIEND TO SOME NEW 
SCENES AND INCIDENTS, 

X.— TREATS OF TENDER SUBJECTS OF A PECULIAR KIND, 
AND SHOWS HOW BILLY TOWLER GOT INTO SCRAPES 
AND OUT OF THEM, 

XI. — THE ANCIENT CORPORATION OF TRINITY HOUSE OF 
DEPTFORD STROND, 


PAOK 

1 

13 

31 

46 

54 

68 

86 

108 

122 

147 

173 


CONTENTS 


vi 

PAOB 

CHAP. XU. — STRANGE SIGHTS AND SCENES ON LAND AND SEA, . 188 

Xin. — ROBERT QUEERER COMES OUT VERY STRONG INDEED, 205 

XIV.— THE LAMPLIGHTER AT HOME,— THREATENING AP- 
PEARANCES, 230 

XV.— A NIGHT OP WRECK AND DISASTER — THE GULL 

“ COMES TO GRIEF,” 248 

XVI. — GETTING READY FOR ACTION, . • • • . 267 

XVII. — THE BATTLE, ........ 274 

XVIII.— SHOWS THAT THERE ARE NO EFFECTS WITHOUT 

ADEQUATE CAUSES, 301 

XIX.— CONFIDENCES AND CROSS PURPOSES, • • • 314 

XX.— MYSTERIOUS DOINGS, •••••• 325 

XXI.— ON THE SCENT, 343 

XXII.— MR. JONES IS OUTWITTED, AND NORA IS LEFT 

DESOLATE, 354 

XXIII.— TELLS OF AN UNLOOKED-FOR RETURN, AND DE- 
SCRIBES A GREAT FEAST, 372 

XXIV.— CONCLUSION, 3&6 


THE FLOATING LIGHT OF THE 
GOODWIN SANDS: 

A TALK 


CHAPTER L 

PARTICULAR INQUIRIES. 

A light — clear, ruddy and brilliant, like a huge 
carbuncle — uprose one evening from the deep, and 
remained hovering about forty feet above the sur- 
face, scattering its rays far and wide, over the Downs 
to Ramsgate and Deal, along the coast towards 
Dover, away beyond the North Foreland, across the 
Goodwin Sands, and far out upon the bosom of the 
great North Sea. 

It was a chill November evening, when this light 
arose, in the year — well, it matters not what year. 
We have good reasons, reader, for shrouding this 
point in mystery. It may have been recently ; it 
may have been ‘Gong, long ago.” We don’t intend 
to tell. It was not the first time of that light’s 

A 


2 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


appearance and it certainly was not the last. Le^it 
suffice that what we are about to relate did happen, 
sometime or other within the present century. 

Besides being cold, the evening in question was 
somewhat stormy — “ gusty,” as was said of it by a 
traveller with a stern visage and remarkably keen 
grey eyes, who entered the coffee-room of an hotel 
which stood on the margin of Bamsgate harbour 
facing the sea, and from the upper windows of 
which the light just mentioned was visible. 

“It is, sir,” said the waiter, in reply to the 
“ gusty ” observation, stirring the fire while the 
traveller divested himself of his hat and greatcoat. 

“Think it's going to blow hard?” inquired the 
traveller, planting himself firmly on the hearth-rug, 
with his back to the fire, and his thumbs hooked 
into the armholes of his waistcoat. 

“ It may, sir, and it may not,” answered the waiter, 
with the caution of a man who has resolved, come 
what may, never to commit himself. “ Sometimes 
it comes on to blow, sir, w’en we don’t look for it ; 
at other times it falls calm w’en we least expects it. 
I don’t pretend to understand much about the 
weather myself, sir, but I shouldn’t wonder if it 
was to come on to blow ’ard. It ain’t an uncommon 
thing at Bamsgate, sir.” 

The traveller, who was a man of few words, said 
“Humph!” to which the wa:’ter dutifully replied 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


3 


“Yessir,” feeling, no doubt, that the observation 
was too limited to warrant a lengthened rejoinder. 

The waiter of the Fortress Hotel had a pleasant, 
sociable, expressive countenance, which beamed 
into a philanthropic smile as he added, — 

“Can I do anything for you, sir?” 

“ Yes — tea,” answered the traveller with the keen 
grey eyes, turning, and poking the fire with the heel 
of his boot. 

“Anything with it, sir?” asked the waiter with 
that charmingly confident air peculiar to his class, 
which induces one almost to believe that if a plate 
of elephant’s foot or a slice of crocodile’s tail were 
ordered it would be produced, hot, in a few minutes. 

“ D’ you happen to know a man of the name of 
Jones in the town ?” demanded the traveller, facing 
round abruptly. 

The waiter replied that he had the pleasure of 
knowing at least seven Joneses in the town. 

“ Does one of the seven deal largely in cured fish 
and own a small sloop ?” asked the traveller. 

“Yessir, he do, but he don’t live in Eamsgate; 
he belongs to Yarmouth, sir, comes ’ere only now 
and then.” 

“ D’ you know anything about him V* 

“ Ho, sir, he don’t frequent this ’oteL” 

The waiter said this in a tone which showed that 
he deemed that fact sufficient to render Jones 


4 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


altogether unworthy of human interest; “but I 
believe,” he added slowly, “ that he is said to ’ave 
plenty of money, bears a bad character, and is rather 
fond of his bottle, sir.” 

“You know nothing more ?” 

“ Nothing, sir.” 

“ Ham and eggs, dry toast and shrimps,” said the 
keen- eyed traveller in reply to the reiterated ques- 
tion. 

Before these viands were placed on the table the 
brief twilight had' passed away and darkness en- 
shrouded land and sea. After they had been con- 
sumed the traveller called for the latest local paper, 
to which he devoted himself for an hour with 
unflagging zeal — reading it straight through, appar- 
ently, advertisements and all, with as much diligence 
as if it were a part of his professional business to do 
so. Then he tossed it away, rang the bell, and 
ordered a candle. 

“ I suppose,” he said, pointing towards the sea, as 
he was about to quit the room, >“ that that is the 
floating light ?” 

“ It is one of ’em, sir,” replied the waiter. “ There 
ore three lights on the sands, sir ; the Northsan *ead, 
the Gull-stream, and the Southsan ’ead. That one, 
sir, is the Gull.” 

“ How far off may it be ?” 

“ About four miles, sir.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


5 


“ What is tlie mate’s name?” 

w Welton, sir, John Wei ton.” 

“ Is he aboard just now ?” 

“Yessir, it’s the master’s month ashore. The 
master and mate ’ave it month an’ month about, sir 
— one month afloat, next month ashore ; but it 
seems to me, sir, that they have ’arder work w’en 
ashore than they ’ave w’en afloat — lookin’ after the 
Trinity stores, sir, an’ goin’ off in the tender to shift 
and paint the buoys an’ such like; but then you 
see, sir, w’en it ’s their turn ashore they always gits 
home to spend the nights with their families, sir, 
w’ich is a sort of compensation, as it were, — that ’s 
where it is, sir.” 

“ Humph ! d’ you know what time it is slack water 
out there in the afternoon just now ?” 

“ About three o’clock, sir.” 

“Call me at nine to-morrow; breakfast at half- 
past ; beefsteaks, coffee, dry toast. Good-night” 

“ Yessir — good-night, sir — Ho. 27, sir, first floor, 
left-hand side.” 

Ho. 27 slammed his door with that degree of vio- 
lence which indicates a stout arm and an easy con- 
science. In less than quarter of an hour the keen 
grey eyes were veiled in slumber, as was proved 
unmistakeably to the household by the sounds that 
proceeded from the nose to which these eyes be- 
longed. 


6 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


It is not unfrequently found that strength of 
mind, vigour of body, high colour, and a tremendous 
appetite are associated with great capacity for snor- 
ing. The man with the keen grey eyes possessed 
all these qualities, as well as a large chin and a firm 
mouth, full of very strong white teeth. He also 
possessed the convenient power of ability to go to 
sleep at a moment’s notice and to remain in that feli- 
citous condition until he chose to awake. His order 
to be “ called” in the morning had reference merely 
to hot water ; for at the time of which we write 
men were still addicted to the ridiculous practice 
of shaving-va practice which, as every one knows, 
is now confined chiefly to very old men — who 
naturally find it difficult to give up the bad habit 
of a lifetime — and to little boys, who erroneously 
suppose that the use of a sharp penknife will hasten 
Nature’s operations. 

Exactly at nine o’clock, a knock at the door and 
“ ’Ot water, sir,” sounded in the ears of No. 27. At 
half-past nine precisely No. 27 entered the coffee- 
room, and was so closely followed by the waiter with 
breakfast that it seemed as if that self-sacrificing 
functionary had sat up all night keeping the meal 
hot in order to testify, by excessive punctuality, the 
devotion of his soul to duty. 

The keen -eyed man had a keen appetite, if one 
might judge from appearances in such a matter. A 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


7 


thick underdone steak that overwhelmed his plate 
appeared to melt away rapidly from before him. 
Potatoes he disposed of in two bites each ; small 
ones were immolated whole. Of mustard he used 
as much as might have made a small-sized plaster ; 
pepper he sowed broadcast ; he made no account 
whatever of salt, and sugar was as nothing before 
him. There was a peculiar crash in the sound 
produced by the biting of his toast, which was sug- 
gestive at once of irresistible power and thorough 
disintegration. Coffee went down in half-cup gulps ; 
shrimps disappeared in shoals, shells and all; and 
— in short, his proceedings might have explained to 
an intelligent observer how it is that so many men 
grow to be exceedingly fat, and why it is that hotel 
proprietors .cannot afford to lower their apparently 
exorbitant charges. The waiter, standing modestly 
by, and looking on with solemn interest, mentally 
attributed the traveller’s extraordinary powers and 
high health to the fact that he neither smoked nor 
drank. It would be presumptuous in us to hazard a 
speculation on this subject in the face of an opinion 
held by one who was so thoroughly competent to 
judge. 

Breakfast over, the keen-eyed man put on his hat 
and overcoat and sallied forth to the harbour, where 
he spent the greater part of the forenoon in loiter- 
ing about, inspecting the boats— particularly the 


8 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


lifeboat —and the shipping with much interest, and 
entering into conversation with the boatmen who 
lounged upon the pier. He was very- gracious to 
the coxswain of the lifeboat — a bluff, deep-chested, 
hearty, neck-or-nothing sort of man, with an in- 
telligent eye, almost as keen as his own, and a 
manner quite as prompt. With this coxswain he 
conversed long about the nature of his stirring and 
dangerous duties. He then made inquiry about 
his crew : how many men he had, and their cir- 
cumstances ; and, by the way, whether any of them 
happened to be named Jones. One of them was so 
named, the coxswain said — Tom Jones. This led 
the traveller to ask if Tom Jones owned a small 
sloop. No, he didn’t own a sloop, not even a boat. 
Was there any other Jones in the town who owned 
a small sloop and dealt largely in cured fish ? Yes 
there was, and he was a regular gallow’s-bird, if all 
reports were true, the coxswain told him. 

The traveller did not press the subject long. 
Having brought it up as it were incidentally, he 
dismissed it carelessly, and again concentrated his 
attention and interest on the lifeboat. 

To all the men with whom he conversed this 
bluff man w T ith the keen grey eyes put the same 
question, and he so contrived to put it that it 
seemed to be a matter of comparatively little in- 
terest to him whether there was or was not a man 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


9 


of tlie name of Jones in the town. Nevertheless, 
he gained all the 'information about Jones that he 
desired, and then, hiring a boat, set out for the float- 
ing light. 

The weather, that had appeared threatening during 
the night, suddenly became calm and fine, as if to 
corroborate the statement of the waiter of the For- 
tress Hotel in regard to its uncertainty ; but know- 
ing men in oilcloth sou’westers and long boots gave 
it as their opinion that the weather was not to be 
trusted. Fortunately for the traveller, it remained 
trustworthy long enough* to serve his purpose. The 
calm permitted his boat to go safely alongside of 
the light-ship, and to climb up the side without 
difficulty. 

The vessel in which he found himself was not by 
any means what we should style clipper-built — 
quite the reverse. It was short for its length, bluff 
in the bows, round in the stern, and painted all 
over, excepting the mast and deck, of a bright red 
colour, like a great scarlet dragon, or a gigantic 
boiled lobster. It might have been mistaken for 
the first attempt in the ship-building way of an 
infatuated boy, whose acquaintance with ships was 
founded on hearsay, and whose taste in colour was 
violently eccentric. This remarkable thing had one 
immense mast in the middle of it, supported by six 
stays, like the Norse galleys of old, but it had no 


10 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


yards ; for, although the sea was indeed its home; 
and it incessantly braved the fury of the storm, 
diurnally cleft the waters of flood and ebb-tide, and 
gallantly breasted the billows of ocean all the year 
round, it had- no need of sails. It never advanced 
an inch on its course, for it had no course. It never 
made for any port. It was never either homeward 
or outward bound. No streaming eyes ever watched 
its departure ; no beating hearts ever hailed its 
return. Its bowsprit never pointed either to “ Green- 
land’s icy mountains, or India’s coral strand,” for it 
had no bowsprit at all. Its helm was never swayed 
to port or starboard, although it had a helm, because 
the vessel turned submissive with the tides, and its 
rudder, being lashed hard and fast amidships — like 
most weather-cocks— couldn’t move. Its doom was 
to tug perpetually, day and night, from year to year, 
at a gigantic anchor which would notrlet go, and to 
strain at a monster chain- cable which would not 
snap-^in short, to strive for ever, like Sisyphus, 
after something which can never be attained. 

A sad destiny, some may be tempted to exclaim. 
No, reader, not so sad as it appears. We have pre- 
sented but one side of the picture. That curious, 
almost ridiculous-looking craft, was among the aris- 
tocracy of shipping. Its important office stamped 
it with nobility. It lay there, conspicuous in its 
royal colour, from day to day and year to year, to 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


11 


mark the fair- way between the white cliffs of Old 
England and the outlying shoals — distinguished in 
daylight by a huge hall at its mast-head, and at 
night by a magnificent lantern with argand lamps 
and concave reflectors, which shot its rays like 
lightning far and wide over the watery waste, while, 
in thick weather, when neither ball nor light could 
be discerned, a sonorous- gong gave its deep-toned 
warning to the approaching mariner, and let him 
know his position amid the surrounding dangers. 
Without such warnings by night and by day, the 
world would suffer the loss of thousands of lives and 
untold millions of gold. Indeed the mere absence 
of such warnings for one stormy night would cer- 
tainly result in loss irreparable to life and property. 
As well- might Great -Britain dispense with her 
armies as with her floating lights ! That boiled- 
lobster-like craft was also, if we may be allowed 
to say so, stamped with magnanimity, because its 
services were disinterested and universal. While 
other ships were sailing grandly to their ports in 
all their canvas panoply, and swelling with the 
pride of costly merchandise within, each unmindful 
of the other, this ship remained- floating there, desti- 
tute of cargo, either rich or poor, never in port, 
always on service, serene in all the majesty of her 
one settled self-sacrificing purpose — to guide the 
converging navies of the world safely past the dan- 


12 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


gerous shoals that meet them on their passage to the 
world’s greatest port, the Thames, or to speed them 
safely thence when outward-bound. That unclip- 
perly craft, moreover, was a gallant vessel, because 
its post was one of danger. When other ships fled 
on the wings of terror — or of storm trysails — to 
seek refuge in harbour and roadstead, this one 
merely lengthened her cable — as a knight might 
shake loose the reins of his war-horse on the eve of 
conflict — and calmly awaited the issue, prepared to 
let the storm do its worst, and to meet it with a 
bold front. It lay Tight in the Channel, too, “ i’ the 
imminent deadly breach,” as it were, prepared to 
risk encounter with the thousands of ships, great 
and small, which passed to and fro continually ; — 
to be grazed and fouled by clumsy steersmen, and 
to be run into at night by unmanageable wrecks or 
derelicts ; ready for anything in fact — come weal 
come woe, blow high blow low— in the way of duty, 
for this vessel was the Floating Light that marked 
the Gull-stream off the. celebrated and fatal Goodwin 
Sands. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


13 


CHAPTER II. 

THE FLOATING LIGHT BECOMES THE SCENE OF FLOATING SURMISES 
AND VAGUE SUSPICIONS. 

It must not be supposed, from what has been 
said, that the Gull Lightship was the only vessel of 
the kind that existed at that time. But she was a 
good type of the class of vessels (numbering at pre- 
sent about sixty) to which she belonged, and, both 
as regarded her situation and duties, was, and still 
is, one of the most interesting among the floating 
lights of the kingdom. 

When the keen-eyed traveller stepped upon her 
w ell-scrubbed deck, he was courteously received by 
the mate, Mr. John Welton, a strongly-built man 
above six feet in height, with a profusion of red 
hair, huge whiskers, and a very peculiar expression 
of countenance, in which were united calm self- 
possession, coolness, and firmness, with great good- 
humour and affability. 

“ You are Mr. Welton, I presume ?” said the tra- 
veller abruptly, touching his hat with his forefinger 


14 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


in acknowledgment of a similar salute from the 
mate. 

“ That is my name, sir.” 

“ Will you do me the favour to read this letter V* 
said the traveller, selecting a document from a portly 
pocket-book, and presenting it. 

Without reply the mate unfolded the letter and 
quietly read it through, after which he folded and 
returned it to his visitor, remarking that he should 
be happy to furnish him with all the information he 
desired, if he would do him the favour to step down 
into the cabin. 

“I may set your mind at rest on one point at 
once,” observed the stranger, as he moved towards 
the companion-hatch, “ my -investigations have no 
reference whatever to yourself.” 

Mr. Welton made no reply, but a slight look of 
perplexity that had rested on his brow while he 
read the letter cleared away. 

“ Follow me, Mr. Larks,” he said, turning and 
descending the ladder sailor-fashion— which means 
crab-wise. 

“Do you happen to know anything,” asked Mr. 
Larks, as he prepared to follow, “ about a man of the 
name of Jones ? I have come to inquire particularly 
about him, and about your* son, who, I am told — ” 

The remainder of the sentence was lost in the 
cabin of the floating light. Here, with the door and 


OF TI1E GOODWIN SANDS. 


15 


skylight shut, the mate remained closeted for a long 
time in close conference with the keen-eyed man, 
much to the surprise of the two men who constituted 
the watch on deck, because visitors of any kind to 
a floating light were about as rare as snowflakes in 
July, and the sudden advent of a visitor, who looked 
and acted mysteriously, was in itself a profound 
mystery. Their curiosity, however, was only gratified 
to this extent, that they observed the stranger and 
the mate through the skylight bending earnestly over 
several newspapers spread out before them on the 
cabin table. 

In less than an hour the keen eyed man re-ap- 
peared on deck, bade the mate an abrupt good-bye, 
nodded to the men who held the ropes for him, 
descended into the boat, and took his departure for 
the shore whence he had come. 

By this time the sun was beginning to approach 
the horizon. The mate of the floating light took 
one or two turns on the deck, at which he gazed 
earnestly, as if his future destiny were written there. 
He then glanced at the compass and at the vessel’s 
bow, after which he leant over the side of the red- 
dragon, and looked down inquiringly at the flow of 
the tide. Presently his attention was fixed on the 
shore, behind which the sun was about to set, and, 
after a time, he directed a stern look towards the 
sky, as if he were about to pick a quarrel with that 


16 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


part of the universe, but thinking better of it, 
apparently, he unbent his brows, let his eyes fall 
again on the deck, and muttered to himself, “ EL’m ! 
I expected as much.” 

What it was that he expected, Mr. John Welton 
never told from that day to this, so it cannot he re- 
corded here, but, after stating the fact, he crossed his 
arms on his broad chest, and, leaning against the 
stern of his vessel, gazed placidly along the deck, as 
if he were taking a complacent survey of the vast 
domain over which he ruled. 

It was an interesting kingdom in detail. Leaving 
out of view all that which was behind him, and 
which, of course, he could not see, we may remark 
that, just before him stood the binnacle and compass, 
and the cabin skylight. On his right and left the 
territory of the quarter-deck was seriously circum- 
scribed, and the promenade much interfered with, by 
the ship's boats, which, like their parent, were painted 
red, and which did not hang at the davits, but, like 
young lobsters of the kangaroo type, found shelter 
within their mother, when not at sea on their own 
account. Near to them were two signaLcarronades. 
Beyond the skylight rose the bright brass funnel of 
the cabin chimney, and the winch, by means of which 
the lantern was hoisted. Then came another sky- 
light, and the companion-hatch about the centre of 
the deck. Just beyond this stood the most impor- 


OF TIliS GOODWIN SANDS* 


17 


tant part of the vessel —the lantern-house. This was a 
circular wooden structure, above six feet in diameter, 
with a door and small windows. Inside was the 
lantern— the beautiful piece of costly mechanism for 
which the light-ship, its crew, and its appurtenances 
were maintained. Right through the centre of this 
house rose the thick unyielding mast of the vessel. 
The lantern, which was just a little less than its 
house, surrounded this mast and travelled upon it. 
Beyond this the capital of the kingdom, the eye of 
the monarch was arrested by another bright brass 
funnel, which was the chimney of the galley-fire, and 
indicated the exact position of the abode of the crew, 
or — to continue our metaphor — the populace, who, 
however, required no such indicator to tell of their 
existence or locality, for the chorus of a “ nigger” 
melody burst from them, ever and anon, through 
every opening in the decks, with jovial violence, as 
they sat, busily engaged on various pieces of work 
below. The more remote parts of this landscape — 
or light-scape, if we may be allowed the expression — 
were filled up with the galley-skylight, the bitts, and 
the windlass, above which towered the gong, and 
around which twined the two enormous chain cables. 
Only one of these, however, was in use — that, with a 
single mushroom- anchor, being sufficient to hold the 
ship securely against tide and tempest. 

In reference to this we may remark in passing 

B 


18 


THE FLOATING L1GH T 


that the . cable of a floating light is frequently^ re- 
newed, and that the chafing of the links at the 
hawse-hole is distributed by the occasional paying 
out or hauling in of a few yards of ehain — a process 
which is styled “easing the nip.” ^ 

“ Horroo ! me hearty, ye he as elain as a lady's 
watch,” exclaimed a man of rugged form but pleasant 
countenance, as he issued from the small doorway of 
the lantern-house with a bundle of waste in one 
hand and an oil-can in the other. 

This was one of the lamplighters of the light-ship 
— Jerry MacGowl — a man whose whole soul was, so 
to speak, in that lantern. It was his duty to clip 
and trim the wicks, and fill the lamps, and polish the 
reflectors and brasses, and oil the joints and wheels 
(for this was a revolving — in other words a flashing 
light), and clean the glasses and windows. As there 
were nine lights to attend to, and get ready for 
nightly service, it may be easily understood that the 
lamplighter’s duty was no sinecure. 

The shout of Jerry recalled the king from his con- 
templation of things in general to the lantern in 
particular. 

“All ready to hoist, Jerry?' inquired Mr. Wel- 
ton, going forward. 

“ All ready, sir,” exclaimed the man, looking at 
his handiwork with admiration, and carefully re- 
moving a speck of dust that had escaped his notice 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


19 


from one of the plate-glass windows ; “ An’t she a 
purty thing now ? — baits the best Ginaiva watcli as 
iver was made. Ye might ait yer supper off her 
floor and shave in the reflictors.” 

“ That’s a fact, Jerry, with no end of oil to your 
salad too,” said Mr. Welton, surveying the work of 
the lamplighter with a critical eye. 

“ True for ye,” replied Jerry, “ an’ as much cotton 
waste as ye like without sinful extravagance.” 

“ The sun will be down in a few minutes,” said the 
mate, turning round and once more surveying the 
western horizon. 

Jerry admitted that, judging from past experi- 
ence, there was reason to believe in the probability 
of that event ; and then, being of a poetical tempera- 
ment, he proceeded to expatiate upon the beauty of 
the evening, which was calm and serene. 

“D’ye know, sir,” he said, gazing towards the 
shore, between which and the floating light a 
magnificent fleet of merchant-men lay at anchor 
waiting for a breeze — each vessel reflected clearly 
in the water along with the dazzling clouds of gold 
that towered above the setting sun — “ D’ ye know, 
sir, I niver sees a sky like that but it minds me o’ 
the blissid green h^fls an^purty lakes of owld Ire- 
land, an’ fills me buzzum wid a sort of inspiration 
till it feels fit a’most to bust.” 

“You should have been a -poet, Jerry,” observed 


20 


TIIE FLO AUNG LIGHT 


the mate, in a contemplative tone, as he surveyed 
the shipping through his telescope. 

“ Just what I've often thought mesilf, sir,” replied 
Jerry, wiping his forehead with the bunch of waste — 
“ many a time I *ve said to mesilf, in a thoughtful 
mood — 

Wan little knows what dirty clo’es 
# May kiver up a poet ; 

What fires may burn an’ flout an* skurn, 

An’ no wan iver know it.” 

“That's splendid, Jerry; but what’s the meanin’ 
of ‘ skurn V ” 

“ Sorrow wan of me knows, sir, but it conveys the 
idee somehow ; don’t it, now?” 

“ I ’m not quite sure that it does,” said the mate, 
walking aft and consulting his chronometer for the 
last time, after which he put his head down the 
hatchway and shouted, “ Up lights ! ” in a deep 
sonorous voice. 

“ Ay, ay, sir,” came the ready response from below, 
followed by the prompt appearance of the other 
lamplighter and the four seamen who composed 
the crew of the vessel. Jerry turned on his heel, 
murmuring, in a tone of pity, that the mate, poor 
man, “ had no soul for poethry.” 

Five of the crew manned the winch ; the mate 
and Jerry went to a block-tackle which was also 
connected with the lifting apparatus. Then the 
order to hoist was given, and immediately after, just 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


21 


as tlie sun went down, the floating light went up, — 
a modest yet all-important luminary of the night 
Slowly it rose, for the lantern containing it weighed 
full half a ton, and caused the hoisting chain and 
pulleys to groan complainingly. At last it reached 
its destination at the head of the thick part of the 
mast, but about ten or fifteen feet beneath the balL 
As it neared the top, Jerry sprang up the chain- 
ladder to connect the lantern with the rod and pinion 
by means of which, with clockwork beneath, it was 
made to revolve and “ flash ” once every third of a 
minute. 

Simultaneously with the ascent of the Gull 
light there arose out of the sea three bright stars on 
the nor’-eastern horizon, and another star in the 
south-west. The first were the three fixed lights 
of the lightship that marked the North sandhead ; 
the latter was the fixed light that guarded the South 
sandhead. The Goodwin sentinels were now placed 
for the night, and the commerce of the world might 
come and go, and pass those dreaded shoals, in 
absolute security. 

Ere long the lights of the shipping in the Downs 
were hung out, and one by one the lamps on shore 
shone forth — those which -marked the-entrance of 
Eamsgate harbour being conspicuous for -colour and 
brilliancy — until the water, which was so calm as to 
reflect them all, seemed alive with perpendicular 


22 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


streams of liquid fire ; land and sea appearing to be 
the subjects of one grand illumination. A much 
less poetical soul than that of the enthusiastic lamp- 
lighter might have felt a touch of unwonted inspira- 
tion on such a night, and in such a scene. The 
effect on the mind was irresistibly tranquillizing. 
While contemplating the multitudes of vessels that 
lay idle and almost motionless on the glassy water, 
the thought naturally arose that each black hull en- 
shrouded human beings who were gradually sinking 
into rest-^relaxing after the energies of the past day 
— while the sable cloak of night descended, slowly 
and soothingly, as if God were spreading His hand 
gently over all to allay the fever of man’s busy day- 
life and calm him into needful rest. 

The watch of the floating light having been set, 
namely, two men to perambulate the deck-^a strict 
watch being kept on board night and day — the rest 
of the crew went below to resume work, amuse them- 
selves, or turn in as they felt inclined. 

While they were thus engaged, and darkness was 
deepening on the scene, Welton stood on the quarter- 
deck observing a small sloop that floated slowly 
towards the lightship. Her sails were indeed set, 
but no breath of wind bulged them out ; her onward 
progress was caused by the tide, which had by that 
time begun to set with a strong current to the north- 
ward. When within about a cable’s length, the 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


23 


rattle of her chain told that the anchor had been 
let go. A few minutes later, a boat was seen to 
push off from the sloop and make for the lightship. 
Two men rowed it and a third steered. Owing to 
the force of the current they made the vessel with 
some difficulty. 

“ Heave us a rope,” cried one of the men, as they 
brushed past. 

“ No visitors allowed aboard,” replied Mr. Welton 
sternly ; catching up, nevertheless, a coil of rope. 

“ Hallo ! father, surely you Ve become very 
unhospitable,” exclaimed another voice from the 
boat. 

“ Why, Jim, is that you, my son ?” cried the mate, 
as he flung the coil over the side. 

The boatmen caught it, and next moment Jim 
stood on the deck — a tall strapping young seaman 
of twenty or thereabouts — a second edition of his 
father, but more active and lithe in his motions. 

“ Why you creep up to us, Jim, like a thief in 
the night. What brings you here, lad, at such an 
hour ?” asked Mr. Welton, senior, as he shook hands 
with his son. 

“ I Ve come to have a tain: with Ve, father. As 
to creeping like a thief, a man must creep with the 
tide when there ’s no wind, d’ ye see, if he don’t 
come to an anchor. ’Tis said that time and tide 
wait for no man ; that bein’ so, I have come to see 


24 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


you now that I ’ve got the chance. That’s where it 
is. But I cant stay long, for old Jones will — ” 

“ What \” interrupted the mate with a frown, as 
he led his son to the forepart of the vessel, in order 
to be out of earshot of the watch, “ have ’ee really 
gone an’ shipped with that scoundrel again, after all 
I Ve said to ’ee ?” 

“ I have, father,” answered the young man with a 
perplexed expression ; “ it is about that same that 
T Ve come to talk to ’ee, and to explain — ” 

“ You have need to explain, Jim,” said the mate 
sternly, “ for it seems to me that you are deliber- 
ately taking up with bad company ; and I see in you 
already one o’ the usual consequences; you don’t 
care much for your father’s warnings.” 

“ Don’t say that, father,” exclaimed the youth ear- 
nestly, “ I am sure that if you knew — stay ; I ’ll 
send back the boat, with orders to return for me in 
an hour or so.” 

Saying this he hurried to the gangway, dismissed 
the boat, and returned to the forepart of the vessel, 
where he found his father pacing the deck with an 
anxious and somewhat impatient air. 

“ Father,” said Jim, as he walked up and down 
beside his sire, “ I have made up my mind that it is 
my duty to remain, at least a little longer, with 
Jones, because — ” 

“Your duty!” interrupted the mate in surprise. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


25 


"James!” he added, earnestly, "you told me not 
long ago that you had taken to attending the prayer- 
meetings at the sailors’ chapel when you could 
manage it, and I was glad to hear you say so, be- 
cause I think that the man who feels his need of 
the help of the Almighty, and acts upon his feeling, 
is safe to escape the rocks and shoals of life — always 
supposin’ that he sails by the right chart— the Bible; 
but tell me, does the missionary, or the Bible, teach 
that it is any one’s duty to take up with a swearing, 
drinking scoundrel, who is going from bad to worse, 
and has got the name of being worthy of a berth in 
Newgate ?” 

"We cannot tell, father, whether all that’s said 
of Morley Jones be true. We may have our suspi- 
cions, but we can’t prove t’em; and there’s no 
occasion to judge a man too soon.” 

“ That may be so, Jim, but that is no reason why 
you should consort with a man who can do you no 
good, and will Gertainly do ’ee much harm, when 
you ’ve no call for to do so. Why do ’ee stick by 
him — that ’s what I want to know — when everybody 
says he ’ll be the ruin of you ? And why do ’ee 
always put me off with vague answers when I git 
upon that subject ? You did not use to act like 
that, Jim. You were always fair an* aboveboard in 
your young days. But what’s the use of askin’? 
It’s plain that bad company has done it, an’ my 


26 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


only wonder is, how you ever come to play the 
hypocrite to that extent, as to go to the prayer- 
meeting and make believe you Ve turned religious.” 

There was a little bitterness mingled with the 
tone of remonstrance in which this was said, which 
appeared to affect the young man powerfully, for 
his face crimsoned as he stopped and laid his hand 
on his father’s shoulder. 

“ Whatever follies or sins I may have committed,” 
he said, solemnly, “ I have not acted a hypocrite’s 
part in this matter. Did you ever yet find me out, 
father, tellin’ you a lie ?” 

“Well, I can’t say I ever did,” answered the 
mate with a relenting smile, “Except that time when 
you skimmed all the cream off the milk and cap- 
sized the dish and said the cat done it, although 
you was slobbered with it from your nose to your 
toes — but you was a very small fellow at that time, 
you was, and hadn’t got much ballast aboard nor 
begun to stow your conscience.” 

“ Well, father,” resumed Jim with a half-sad 
smile, “you may depend upon it I am not going to 
begin to deceive you now. My dear mother’s last 
words to me on that dreary night when she died, — 
‘Always stick to the truth, Jim, whatever it may 
cost you,’ — have never been forgotten, and I pray God 
they never may be. Believe me when I tell you 
that I never join Morley in any of liis sinful doings, 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


27 


especially his drinking bouts. You know that I am 
a total abstainer — ” 

“No, you’re not,” cried Mr. Welton, senior; “you 
don’t abstain totally from bad company, Jim, and 
it ’s that I complain of.” 

“ I never join him in his drinking bouts,” repeated 
Jim, without noticing the interruption ; “ and as he 
never confides to me any of his business transactions, 
I have no reason to say that I believe them to be 
unfair. As I said before, I may suspect, but suspi- 
cion is not knowledge ; we have no right to condemn 
him on mere .suspicion.” 

“ True, my son ; but you have a perfect right to 
steer clear of him on mere suspicion.” 

“No doubt,” replied Jim, with some hesitation in 
his tone, “ but there are circumstances — ” 

“ There you go again with your ‘ circumstances,” 
exclaimed Welton senior with some asperity ; “ why 
don’t you heave circumstances overboard, rig the 
pumps and make a clean breast of it ? Surely it ’s 
better to do that than let the ship go to the bottom!” 

“ Because, father, the circumstances don’t all be- 
long to myself. Other people’s affairs keep my 
tongue tied. I do assure you that if it concerned 
only myself, T would tell you everything ; and, in- 
deed, when the right time comes, I promise to tell 
you all — but in the meantime I — I — ” 

“ Jim,” said Mr. Welton, senior, stopping suddenly 


28 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


and confronting his stalwart son, “ tell me honestly, 
now, isn’t there a pretty girl mixed up in this busi- 
ness ?” 

Jim stood speechless, but a mantling flush, which 
the rays of the revolving light deepened on his sun- 
burnt countenance, rendered speech unnecessary. 

“ I knew it,” exclaimed the mate, resuming his 
walk and thrusting his hands deeper into the pockets 
of his coat, “it never was otherwise since Adam got 
married to Eve. Whatever mischief is going you ’re 
sure to find a woman underneath the very bottom of 
it, no matter how deep you go ! If it wasn’t that 
the girls are at the bottom of everything good as 
well as everything bad, I ’d be glad to see the 
whole bilin of ’em made fast to all the sinkers of all 
the buoys along the British coast and sent to the 
bottom of the North Sea.” 

“ I suspect that if that were done,” said Jim, with 
a laugh, “ you ’d soon have all the boys on the British 
coast making earnest inquiries after their sinkers * 
But after all, father, although the girls are hard 
upon us sometimes, you must admit that we couldn’t 
get on without ’em.” 

“ True for ye, boy,” observed J erry MacGowl, who, 
coming up at that moment, overheard the conclusion 
of the sentence. “ It ’s mesilf as superscribes to that 
same. Haven ’t the swate creeturs led me the life 
of a dog, turned me inside out like an owld stockin’, 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


29 


trod me in the dust as if I was benaith contimpt 
an' riven me heart to mortial tatters, but I couldn’t 
get on widout ’em nohow for all that. As the pote 
might say, gtf he only knowd how to putt it in pro- 
per verse : — 

* Och, woman dear, ye darlin’, 

It ’s I would iver be 
Yer praises caterwaulin’ 

In swaitest melodee ! ’ ” 

“ Mind your own business, J erry,” said the mate, 
interrupting the flow of the poet’s inspiration. 

“Sure it’s that same I’m doin’, sir,” replied the 
man, respectfully touching his cap as he advanced 
towards the gong that surrounded the windlass and 
uncovered it. “ Don’t ye see the fog a-comin’ down 
like the wolf on the fold, an’ ain’t it my dooty to 
play a little fshune for the benefit o’ the public ?” 

Jerry hit the instrument as he spoke and drowned 
his own voice in its sonorous roar. He was driven 
from his post, however, by Dick Moy, one of the 
watch, who, having observed the approaching fog 
had gone forward to sound the gong, and displayed 
his dislike to interference by snatching the drum- 
stick out of Jerry’s hand and hitting him a smart 
Mow therewith on the top of his head. 

As further conversation was under the circum- 
stances impossible, John Welton and his son re- 
tired to the cabin, where the former detailed to the 
latter the visit of the strange gentleman with the 


30 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


keen grey eyes, and the conversation that had passed 
between them regarding Morley Jones. Still the 
youth remained unmoved, maintaining that suspicion 
was not proof, although he admitted that things now 
looked rather worse than they had done before. 

While the father and son were thus engaged, a 
low moaning wail and an unusual heave of the 
vessel caused them to hasten on deck, just as one of 
the watch put his head down the hatch and shouted, 

“ A squall, sir, brewing up from the noi’-east.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SAN DA, 


31 


CHAPTER III. 

A DISTURBED NIGHT J A WRECK AND AN UNEXPECTED RESCUE. 

The aspect of the night had completely changed. 
The fog had cleared away ; heavy clouds rolled 
athwart the sky; a deeper darkness descended on the 
shipping at anchor in the Downs, and a gradually 
increasing swell caused the Gull to roll a little and 
tug uneasily at her cable. Nevertheless the warn- 
ing light at her mast-head retained its perpendicular 
position in consequence of a clever adaptation of 
mechanism on the principle of the universal joint. 

With the rise of the swell came the first rush of 
the squall. 

“ If they don’t send the boat at once, you ’ll have 
to spend the night with us, Jim,” said the mate, 
looking anxiously in the direction of the sloop be- 
longing to Morley Jones, the dark outlines of which 
could just be seen looming of a deeper black against 
the black sky. 

“ It’s too late even now,” returned Jim in an 


32 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


anxious tone ; “the boat, like everything else about 
the sloop, is a rotten old thing, and would be stove 
against the side in this swell, slight though it be as 
yet. But my chief trouble is, that the cables are not 
fit to hold her if it comes on to blow hard” 

For some time the wind increased until it blew 
half a gale. At that point it continued steady, and 
as it gave no indication of increasing, John Welton 
and his son returned to the cabin, where the latter 
amused himself in glancing over some of the books 
in the small library with which the ship was fur- 
nished, while the sire busied himself in posting up 
the ship’s log for the day. 

For a considerable time they were silent, the one 
busily engaged writing, the other engrossed with a 
book. At last Mr. Welton senior heaved a deep 
sigh, and said, while he carefully dotted an i and 
stroked a t , — 

“ It has always been my opinion, Jim, that when 
boys are bein’ trained for the sea, they should be 
taught writing in a swing or an omnibus, in order 
to get ’em used to do it in difficult circumstances. 
There she goes again,” he added, referring to a lurch 
of the vessel which caused the tail of a y to travel 
at least two inches out of its proper course. “ Now, 
that job ’s done. I ’ll turn in for a spell, and advise 
you to do the same, lad.” 

“ No, I ’ll go on deck and have a talk with Dick 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


33 


Moy. If the gale don’t increase I ’ll perhaps turn 
in, but I couldn’t sleep just now for thinkin’ o’ the 
sloop.” 

“ Please yourself, my son, an’ you ’ll please me,” 
replied the mate with a smile which ended in a yawn 
as he opened the door of a small sleeping berth, and 
disappeared into its recesses. 

James Welton stood for a few minutes with his 
back to the small fireplace, and stared meditatively 
at the cabin lamp. 

The cabin of the floating light was marvel- 
lously neat and immaculately clean. There was evi- 
dence of a well-ordered household in the tidiness 
with which everything was put away in its proper 
place, even although the fair hand of woman had 
nothing to do with it, and clumsy man reigned para- 
mount and alone ! The cabin itself was very small 
— about ten feet or so in length, and perhaps eight 
in width. The roof was so low that Jim could not 
stand quite erect because of the beams. The grate 
resembled a toy, and was of brass polished so bright 
that you might have used it for a looking-glass ; the 
fire in it was proportionately small, but large enough 
for the place it had to warm. A crumb or speck of 
dust could scarce have been found on the floor with 
a microscope,- and no wonder, for whenever John 
Welton beheld the smallest symptom of suGh a 
blemish he seized a brush and shovel and swept it 
c 


34 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


away. The books in the little library at the stern 
were neatly arranged, and so were the cups, plates, 
glasses, salt-cellars, spoons, and saucers, in the little 
recess that did duty as a cupboard. In short, -order 
and cleanliness reigned everywhere. 

And not only was this the case in the cabin, but 
in every department of the ship. The bread-lockers, 
the oil-room next to the cabin, the galley where the 
men lived — all were scrupulously clean and every- 
thing therein was arranged with the method and preci- 
sion that one is accustomed to expect only on board a 
man-of-war. And, after all, what is a floating light 
but a man-of-war ? Its duty is, like that of any 
three-decker, to guard the merchant service from a 
dangerous, foe. It is under command of the Trinity 
Corporation-— which is tantamount to saying that it is 
well found and handled — and it does battle continu- 
ally with the storm. What more could be said of 
a man-of-war ? The only difference is that it does 
its work with lese fuss and no noise ! 

After warming himself for a short time, for the 
night had become bitterly cold, Jim Welton put on 
one of his sire’s overcoats and went on deck, where 
he had a long walk and talk with Dick Moy, who 
gave it as his opinion that “ it was a wery cold night,” 
and said that he “ wouldn’t be surprised if it wor to 
come on to blow ’arder before mornin’.” 

Dick was a huge man with a large expanse of good- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


30 


natured visage, and a tendency to make all liis state- 
ments with the solemnity of an oracle. Big and 
little men, like large and small dogs, have usually a 
sympathetic liking for each other. Dick Moy’s chief 
friend on board was little Jack Shales, who was the 
life of the ship, and was particularly expert, as were 
also most of his mates, in making, during hours of 
leisure, beautiful workboxes and writing-desks with 
inlaid woods of varied colours, which were sold at a 
moderate price on shore, in order to eke out the 
monthly wage and add to the comforts of wives and 
little ones at Bamsgate. It may be added that Jack 
Shales was unquestionably the-noisiest man on board. 
He had a good voice ; could sing, and did sing, from 
morning till night, and had the power of uttering a 
yell that would have put to shame the wildest warrior 
among the Cherokee savages ! 

Jack Shales kept watch with Moy that night, and 
assisted in the conversation until a sudden snow 
storm induced young Welton to bid them good-night 
and retire below. 

« Good-night/’ said Shales, as Jim’s head was dis- 
appearing down the hatchway, “ stir up the fire and 
keep yourself warm.” 

“ That ’s just what I mean to do,” replied Jim ; 
“sorry I can’t communicate some of the warmth to 

you.” 

“ But you can think of us,” cried Jack, looking 


36 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


down the hatchway, “ yon can at least , pity ns poor 
babes ont here in the wind and snow !” 

“ Shut up, Jack !” said Moy with a solemn growl, 
“ wot a tremendous jaw you ’ve got w’en you let 
loose ! Why, wot are ’ee starin’ at now ? ’Ave ’ee 
seed a ghost ?” 

“No, Dick,” said Shales, in a tone of voice from 
which every vestige of jocularity had disappeared ; 
“ look steady in the direction of the South sandhead 
light and — see ! ain’t that the flash of a gun ?** 

“ It looks like it. A wreck on the sand, I fear,” 
muttered Dick Moy, putting up both hands to guard 
his eyes from the snow-flakes that were driven 
wildly about by the wind, which had by that time 
increased to a furious gale. 

For a few minutes the two men stood gazing in- 
tently towards the south-west horizon. Presently 
a faint flash was seen, so faint that they could not 
be certain it was that of a signal-gun. In a few 
minutes, however, a thin thread of red light was seen 
to curve upwards into the black sky. 

“No mistake now,” cried Jack, leaping towards 
the cabin skylight, which he threw up, and bending 
down, shouted — “ South sandhead light is firing, sir, 
and sending up rockets !” 

The mate, who was at the moment in the land of 
dreams, sprang out of them and out of his bunk, and 
stood on the cabin floor almost before the sentence 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


37 


was finished. His son, who had just drawn the 
blanket over his shoulders, and given vent to the 
first sigh of contentment with which a man usually 
lays his head on his pillow for the night, also 
jumped up, drew on coat, nether garments, and 
shoes, as if his life depended on his speed, and 
dashed on deck. There was unusual need for cloth- 
ing that night, for it had become bitterly cold, a 
coat of ice having formed even on the salt-water 
spray which had blown into the boats. They found 
Dick Moy and Jack Shales already actively en- 
gaged — the one loading the lee gun, the other 
adjusting a rocket to its stick. A few hurried 
questions from the mate elicited all that it was 
needful to know. The flash of the gun from the 
South sandhead lightship, about six miles off, had 
been distinctly seen a third time, and a third rocket 
went up just as Welton and his son gained the deck, 
indicating that a vessel had struck upon the fatal 
Goodwin Sands. The report of the gun could not 
be heard, owing to the gale carrying the sound to 
leeward, but the bright line of the rocket was dis- 
tinctly visible. At the same moment the flaring 
light of a burning tar- barrel was observed. It was 
the signal of the vessel in distress just on the 
southern tail of the sands. 

By this time the gun was charged and the rocket 
in position. 


38 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ Look alive, Jack, fetch the poker !” cried the 
mate as he primed the gun. 

Jack Shales dived down the companion-hatch, 
and in another moment returned with a red-hot 
poker, which the mate had thrust into the cabin fire 
at the first alarm. He applied it in quick succession 
to the gun and rocket. A blinding flash and deaf- 
ening crash were followed by the whiz of the rocket 
as it sprang with a magnificent curve far away into 
the surrounding darkness. 

This was their answer to the South sandliead 
light, which, having fired three guns and sent up 
three rockets to attract the attention of the Gull, 
then ceased firing. It was also their first note of 
warning to the look-out on the pier of Ramsgate 
harbour. Of the-three light-ships that guarded the 
sands, the Gull lay nearest to -Ramsgate ; hence, 
whichever of the other two happened to send up 
signals, the Gull had to reply and thenceforward to 
continue repeating them until the attention of the 
Ramsgate look-out should be gained, and a reply 
given. 

“ That ’s a beauty,” cried the mate, referring to 
the rocket ; “ fetch another, Jack ; sponge her well 
out, Dick Moy, we ’ll give ’em another shot in a few 
minutes.” 

Loud and clear were both the signals, but four 
and a half miles of distance and a fresh gale neutral- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


39 


ized their influence. The look-out on the pier did 
not observe them. In less than five minutes the 
gun and rocket were fired again. Still no answering 
signal came from Ramsgate. 

“ Load the weather gun this time,” cried the mate, 
“ they ’ll have a better chance of seeing the flash of 
that.” 

Jack obeyed, and Jim Welton, having nothing to 
do but look on, sought shelter under the lee of the 
weather bulwarks, for the wind, according to Dick 
Moy, “ was blowin needles and penknives.” 

The third gun thundered forth and shook the 
floating light from stem to stern, but the rocket 
struck the rigging and made a low wavering flight. 
Another was therefore sent up, but it had scarcely 
cut its bright line across the sky when the answering 
signal was observed — a rocket from Ramsgate pier ! 

“ That ’s all right now ; our duty ’s done,” said 
the mate, as he went below, and, divesting himself 
of his outer garments, quietly turned in, while the 
watch, having sponged out and re-covered the guns, 
resumed their active perambulation of the deck. 

James Welton, however, could not calm down his 
feelings so easily. This was the first night he had 
ever spent in a light-ship ; the scene was therefore 
quite new to him, and he could not help feeling 
somewhat disappointed at the sudden termination 
of the noise and excitement. He was . told that the 


40 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Ramsgate lifeboat could not be out in less than an 
hour, and it seemed to his excited spirit a terrible 
thing that human lives should be kept so long in 
jeopardy. Of course he began to think, “ Is it not 
possible to prevent this delay ?” but his better sense 
whispered to him that excited spirits are not the 
best judges in such matters, although it cannot be 
denied that they have an irresistible tendency to 
judge. There was nothing for it, however, but to 
exercise philosophic patience, so he went below and 
turned in, as sailors have it, “ all standing,” to be 
ready when the lifeboat should make its appearance. 

The young sailor’s sleep was prompt and pro- 
found. It seemed to him but a few minutes after 
he had laid his head on the pillow when Jack Shale’s 
voice again resounded in the cabin — 

" Lifeboat close alongside, sir. Didn’t see her 
till this moment. She carries no lights.” 

The Weltons, father and son, sprang out of their 
bunks a second time, and, minus coat, hat, and 
shoes, scrambled on deck just in time to see the 
Broadstairs lifeboat rush past before the gale. She 
was close under the stern, and rendered spectrally 
visible by the light of the lantern. 

“ What are you firing for ?” shouted the coxswain 
of the boat. 

“ Ship on the sands, bearing south,” roared Jack 
Shales at the full pitch of his stentorian voice. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


41 


There was no time for more, for the boat did not 
pause in her meteor-like flight. The question was 
asked and answered as she passed with a magnifi- 
cent rush into darkness. The reply had been heard, 
and the lifeboat shot, straight as an arrow, to the 
rescue. 

Reader, we often hear and read of such scenes, 
but we can tell you from experience that vision is 
necessary to enable one to realize the full import of 
all that goes on. There was a strange thrill at the 
heart of young Welton when he saw the familiar 
blue-and-white boat leaping over the foaming bil- 
lows. Often had he seen it in model and in qui- 
escence in its . boat-house, ponderous and almost 
ungainly ; but now he saw it for the first time in 
action, as if endued with life. So, we fancy, war- 
riors might speak of our heavy cavalry as we see 
them in barracks and as they saw them at Alma. 

Again all was silent and unexciting on board the 
Gull ; but, not many minutes later, the watch once 
more shouted down the skylight, — 

“ Tug ’s in sight, sir.” 

It was afterwards ascertained that a mistake had 
been made in reference to the' vessel that had sig- 
nalled. Some one on shore had reported that the 
guns and rockets had been seen flashing from the 
North sandhead vessel, whereas the report should 
have been, “ from the vessel at the South sand- 


12 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


head.” The single word was all-important. It had 
the effect of sending the steam -tug Aid (which 
always attends upon the Ramsgate lifeboat) in the 
wrong direction, involving much loss of time. But 
we mention this merely as affact, not as a reproof. 
Accidents will happen, even in the best regulated 
families. The Ramsgate lifeboat service is most 
admirably regulated ; and for once that an error of 
this kind can be pointed out, we can point to dozens 
— ay, hundreds — of cases in which the steamer and 
lifeboat have gone, straight as the crow flies, to the 
rescue, and have done good service on occasions 
when all other lifeboats would certainly have failed ; 
so great is the value of steam in such matters. 

On this occasion, however, the tug appeared some-- 
what late on the scene, and hailed the Gull. When 
the true state of the case was ascertained, her course 
was directed aright, and full steam let on. The 
Ramsgate boat was in tow far astern. As she passed, 
the brief questions and answers were repeated for 
the benefit of the coxswain, and Jim AVelton ob- 
served that every man in the boat appeared to be 
crouching down on the thwarts except the cox- 
swain, who stood at the steering tackles. No wonder. 
It is not an easy matter to sit up in a gale of wind, 
with freezing spray, and sometimes green seas, 
sweeping over one ! The men were doubtless wide- 
awake and listening, but, as far as vision went, that 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


43 


boat was maimed by ten oilskin coats and sou’- 
westers ! 

A few seconds carried them out of sight, and so 
great was the power of steam that, despite the loss 
of time, they reached the .neighbourhood of the 
wreck as soon as the Broadstairs’ boat, and found 
that the crew of the stranded vessel had already been 
saved, and taken ashore by the- Deal lifeboat. 

It may be as well to observe here, that although 
in this case much energy was expended unneces- 
sarily, it does not follow that it is frequently so 
expended. Often, far too often, all the force of life- 
boat service on that coast is insufficient to meet 
the demands on it. The crews of the various boats 
in the vicinity of the Goodwin Sands are frequently 
called out more than once in a night, and they are 
sometimes out all night, visiting various wuecks in 
succession. In all this work the value of the steam- 
tug is very conspicuous, for it can tow its boat again 
and again to windward of a wreck, and renew the 
effort to save life in cases where, devoid of such aid, 
dfeboats would be compelled to give in after the 
failure of their first attempt, in consequence of their 
being” driven helplessly to leeward 

But we have forestalled our narrative. The drama, 
as far as the Gull- Light was concerned, ended that % 
night with the disappearance of the tug and lifeboat. 
It was not until several days afterwards that her 


44 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


crew learned the particulars of the wreck in connec- 
tion with which they had acted so brief but so im- 
portant a part. 

Meanwhile, Dick Moy, who always walked the 
deck with a rolling swagger, with his huge hands 
thrust deep into his breeches' pockets when there 
was nothing for them to do, said to Jim Welton 
“he'd advise 'im to go below an’ clap the dead- 
lights on 'is peepers.” 

Jim, approving the advice, was about to descend 
to the cabin, when he was arrested by a sharp cry 
that appeared to rise out of the waves. 

“ Wot Tver is that?” exclaimed Dick, as they all 
rushed to the port bow of the vessel and looked over 
the side. 

“ Something in the water,” cried Jack Shales, 
hastily catching up a coil of rope and throwing it 
overboard with that promptitude which is peculiar 
to seamen. . 

“ Why, he can’t ddrch • hold on it ; it 's only a 
dog,” observed Dick Moy. 

All uncertainty on this point was cleared away, 
by a loud wail to which the poor animal gave vent, 
as it scraped along the ship’s hull, vainly endeavour- 
ing to prevent itself from being carried past by the 
tide. 

By this time they were joined by the mate and 
the rest of the crew, who had heard the unwonted 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


45 


Bounds and hurried on deck. Each man was eagerly 
suggesting a method of rescue, or attempting to 
carry one into effect, by means of a noose or other- 
wise, when Mr. Wei ton, senior, observed that Mr. 
Wei ton, junior, was hastily tying a rope round his 
waist. 

“ Hallo ! Jim,” he cried, “ surely you don’t mean 
to risk your life for a dog ?” 

“ There ’s no risk about it, father. Why should I 
leave a poor dog to drown when it will only cost a 
ducking at the worst ? You know I can swim like a 
cork, and I ain’t easily cooled down.” 

“You shan’t do it if I can prevent,” cried the 
mate, rushing at his reckless son. 

But Jim was too nimble for him. He ran to the 
stern of the vessel, leaped on the bulwarks, flung the 
end of the coil of rope among the men, and shouting 
“ Hold on taut, boys !” sprang into the sea. 

The men did “hold on” most powerfully ; they did 
more, they hauled upon the rope, hand over hand, to 
a “Yo-heave-ho!” from Jerry MacGowl, which put 
to shame the roaring gale, and finally hauled Jim 
Welton on board with a magnificent Newfoundland 
dog in his arms, an event which was greeted wit b 
three enthusiastic cheers I 


46 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTER 1Y. 

A NEW CHARACTER INTRODUCED. 

The gale was a short-lived one. On the follow 
ing morning the wind had decreased to a moderate 
breeze, and before night the sea had gone down 
sufficiently to allow the boat of Mr. Jones’s sloop to 
come alongside of the floating light. 

Before Jim Welton bade his friends good-b}^e, he 
managed to have an earnest and private talk with 
each of them. Although he had never been con- 
nected with the Gull, he had frequently met with 
the men of that vessel, and, being one of those large- 
hearted sympathetic men who somehow worm them- 
selves into the affection and confidence of most of 
their friends and comrades, he had something par- 
ticular to say to each, either in reference to wives 
and families on shore, or to other members of that 
distracting section of the human family which, 
according to Mr. Welton senior, lay at the founda- 
tion of all mischief. 

But young Welton did not confine himself to 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


47 


temporal matters. It has already been hinted that 
he had for some time been in the habit of attending 
prayer-meetings, but the truth was that he had 
recently been led by a sailor’s missionary to read 
the Bible, and the precious Word of God had been 
so blessed to his soul, that he had seen his own lost 
condition by nature, and had also seen, and joyfully 
accepted, Jesus Christ as his all-sufficient Saviour. 
He had come to “ know the truth,” and “ the truth 
had set him free;” free, not only from spiritual 
death and the power of sin, but free from that 
unmanly shame which, alas! too often prevents 
Christians from taking a bold stand on the Lord’s 
side. 

The young sailor had, no doubt, had severe inward 
conflicts, which were known only to God and him- 
self, but he had been delivered and strengthened, for 
he was not ashamed of Christ in the presence of his 
old comrades, and he sought by all the means in his 
power to draw them to the same blessed Saviour. 

“Well, good-bye, Jim,” said Mr. Welton, senior, 
as his son moved towards the gangway, when the 
boat came alongside, “ all I ’ve got to say to ’ee, lad, 
is, that you ’re on dangerous ground, and you have 
no right to shove yourself in the way of temptation.” 

“ But I don ’t shove myself, father ; I think I am 
led in that way. I may be wrong, perhaps, but 
such is my belief.” 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


48 


" You 'll not forget that message to my mother* 
whispered a sickly-looking seaman, whose strong- 
boned frame appeared to be somewhat attenuated by 
disease. 

“ I '11 not forget, Rainer. It 's likely that we shall 
be in Yarmouth in a couple of days, and you may 
depend upon my looking up the old woman as soon 
after I get ashore as possible." 

“Hallo ! hi !” shouted a voice from below, “ wot's 
all the hurry V* cried Dick Moy, stumbling hastily 
up on deck while in the act of closing a letter which 
bore evidence of having been completed under diffi- 
culties, for its form was irregular, and its back was 
blotted. “Here you are, putt that in the post at 
Yarmouth, will 'ee, like a good fellow ?” 

" Why, you 've forgotten the address," exclaimed 
Jim Welton in affected surprise. 

“ No, I 'aven’t. There it is hall right on the back." 

“ What, that blot ?” 

“ Ay, that 's wot stands for Mrs. Moy ” said Dick, 
with a good-natured smile. 

“Sure now,” observed Jerry MacGowl, looking 
earnestly at the letter, “ it do seem to me, for all the 
world, as if a cat had drawed his tail across it after 
stumblin’ over a ink-bottle.” 

“Don’t Mrs. Moy live in Ramsgate?” inquired 
Jim Welton. 

“ Of course she do,” replied Dick 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


49 


“But I’m not going there; I’m goin’ to Yar- 
mouth,” said Jim. 

“Wot then?” retorted Dick, “d”ee suppose the 
clerk o’ the post-office at Yarmouth ain’t as well able 
to read as the one at Ramsgate, even though the writin’ 
do be done with a cat’s tail ? Go along with ’ee.” 

Thus dismissed, Jim descended the side and was 
quickly on board the sloop Nora to which he be- 
longed. 

On the deck of the little craft he was received 
gruffly by a man of powerful frame and stern 
aspect, but whose massive head, covered with shaggy 
grey curling hair, seemed to indicate superior powers 
of intellect. This was Morley Jones, the master and 
owner of the sloop. 

“ A pretty mess you ’ve made of it ; I might have 
been in Yarmouth by this time,” he said, testily. 

“ More likely at the bottom of the sea,” answered 
Jim, quietly, as he went aft and looked at the com- 
pass — more from habit than from any desire to re- 
ceive information from that instrument. 

“Well, if I had been at the bottom o’ the sea, 
what then ? Who ’s to say that I mayn’t risk my life 
if I see fit ? It ’s not worth much,” he said, gloomily. 

“ You seem to forget that in risking your own life 
you risk the lives of those who sail along with you,” 
replied Jim, with a bold yet good-humoured look at 
the skipper. 

D 


50 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ And what if I do risk their lives ? — they ain't 
worth much, either, I’m sure?” 

“ Not to you, Morley, hut worth a good deal to 
themselves, not to mention their wives and families 
and friends. You know well enough that if I had 
wished ever so much to return aboard last night your 
boat could not have got alongside the Gull for the 
sea. Moreover, you also know that if you had 
attempted to put to sea in such weather, this leaky 
tub, with rotten sails and running gear, would have 
been a wreck on the Goodwin sands before now, and 
you and I, with the two men and the boy, would 
have been food for the gulls and fishes.” 

“Not at all,” retorted Jones, “ there 's not much 
fear of our lives here. The lifeboat crews are too 
active for that ; and as to the sloop, why, she ’s in- 
sured you know for her full value — for more than 
her value, indeed.” 

Jones said this with a chuckle and a sly expres- 
sion in his face, as he glanced meaningly at his com- 
panion. 

“ I know nothing about your insurance or your 
cargo, and, what ’s more, I don’t want to know,” said 
Jim, almost angrily. “You’ve been at Square-Tom 
again,” he added, suddenly laying his hand upon 
the shoulder of his companion and looking earnestly 
into his eyes. 

It was now Jones’s turn to be angry, yet it was 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


51 


evident that he made an effort to restrain his feel- 
ings, as he replied, “ Well, what if I have ? It *s one 
thing for you to advise me to become a teetotaller, 
and it ’s quite another thing for me to agree to do it. 
I tell you again, as I ’ve often told you before, Jim 
Welton, that I don’t mean to do it, and I’m not 
going to submit to be warned and reasoned with 
by you, as if you was my grandfather. I know that 
drink is the curse of my life, and I know that it will 
kill me, and that I am a fool for giving way to it, 
but it is the only thing that makes me able to 
endure this life ; and as for the next, I don’t care 
for it, and I don’t believe in it.” 

“ But your not believing in it does not make it 
less certain,” replied Jim, quietly, but without any 
approach to solemnity in his tone or look, for he 
knew that his companion was not in a mood just 
then to stand such treatment. “ You remember the 
story of the ostrich that was run down ? Finding 
that it could not escape, it stuck its head in the 
sand and thought that nobody saw it. You may 
shut your eyes, Morley, but facts remain facts for 
all that.” 

“ Shutting my eyes is just what I am not doing,” 
returned Jones, flinging round and striding to the 
other side of the deck ; then, turning quickly, he 
strode back, and added, with an oath, “have I not 
tgld you that I see myself, my position, and my pro- 


52 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


spects, as clearly as you do, and that I intend to face 
them all, and take the consequences ? ” 

Jim Welton flushed slightly, and his eyes dilated, 
as he replied, — 

“Have you not the sense to see, Morley Jones, 
that my remonstrances with you are at least disin- 
terested ? What would you think if I were to say to 
you, * Go, drink your fill till death finds you at last 
wallowing on the ground like a beast, or worse than 
a beast ; I leave you to your fate’ ? ” 

“ I would think that Jim Welton had changed 
his nature,” replied Jones, whose anger disappeared 
as quickly as it came. “ I have no objection to 
your storming at me, Jim. You may swear at me as 
much as you please, but, for any sake, spare me your 
reasonings and entreaties, because they only rouse 
the evil spirit within me, without doing an atom 
of good ; and don’t talk of leaving me. Besides, let 
me tell you, you are not so disinterested in this 
matter as you think. There is some one in Yar- 
mouth who has something to do with your interest 
in me.” 

The young man flushed again at the close of this 
speech, but not from a feeling of anger. He dropt 
bis eyes before the earnest though unsteady gaze of 
his half-tipsy companion, who burst into a loud 
laugh as Jim attempted some stammering reply. 

“Come,” he added, again assuming the stern aspect 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


53 


which was natural to him, but giving Jim a friendly 
slap on the shoulder, “ don’t let us fall out, Jim ; 
you and I don’t want to part just now. Moreover, 
if we have a mind to get the benefit of the tide to- 
night, the sooner we up anchor the better, so we 
won’t waste any more time talking.” 

* Without waiting for a reply, Mr. Jones went for- 
ward and called the crew. The anchor was weighed, 
the sails were set, and the sloop Nora — bending over 
before the breeze, as if doing homage in passing her 
friend the Gull-Light — put to sea, and directed her 
course for the ancient town and port of Yarmouth. 


54 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTEE V. 

MOKE NEW CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 

If it be true that time and tide wait for no man, 
it is equally true, we rejoice to know, that authors 
and readers have a corresponding immunity from 
shackles, and are in nowise bound to wait for time 
or tide. 

We therefore propose to leave the Gull-stream 
light, and the Goodwin sands, and the sloop Nora, 
far behind us, and, skipping a little in advance of 
Time itself, proceed at once to Yarmouth. 

Here, in a snug parlour, in an easy chair, before 
\ cheerful fire, with a newspaper in his hand, sat a 
bluff little elderly gentleman, with a bald head and 
a fat little countenance, in which benignity appeared 
to hold perpetual though amicable rivalry with fun. 

That the fat little elderly gentleman was eccentric 
could scarcely be doubted, because he not only looked 
over his spectacles instead of through them, but also, 
apparently, read his newspaper upside down. A 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


55 


closer inspection, however, would have shown that he 
was not reading the paper at all, but looking over the 
top of it at an object which accounted for much of 
the benignity, and some of the fun of his expression. 

At the opposite side of the table sat a very beau- 
tiful girl, stooping over a book, and so earnestly 
intent thereon as to be evidently quite oblivious of 
all else around her. She was at that interesting age 
when romance and reality are supposed to be pretty 
equally balanced in a well-regulated female mind 
— about seventeen. Although not classically beau- 
tiful — her nose being slightly turned upward — she 
was, nevertheless, uncommonly pretty, and, as one of 
her hopeless admirers expressed it, “desperately love- 
able.” Jet black ringlets— then in vogue — clustered 
round an exceedingly fair face, on which there dwelt 
the hue of robust health. Poor Bob Queeker, the 
hopeless admirer above referred to, would have 
preferred that she had been somewhat paler and 
thinner, if that had been possible ; but this is not to 
be wondered at, because Queeker was about sixteen 
years of age at that time, and wrote sonnets to the 
moon and other celestial bodies, and also indulged 
in “ lines ” to various terrestrial bodies, such as the 
lily or the snowdrop, or something equally drooping 
or pale. Queeker never by any chance addressed 
the sun, or the red- rose, or anything else suggestive 
of health and vigour. Yet his melancholy soul could 


56 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


not resist Katie, ^-whieh was this angel’s name,— 
because, although she was energetic, and vigorous, 
and matter-of-fact, not to say slightly mischievous, 
she was intensely sympathetic and tender in hei 
feelings, and romantic too. But her romance puzzled 
him. There was something too intense about it for 
his taste. If he had only once come upon her un- 
awares, and caught her sitting with her hands 
clasped, gazing in speechless adoration at the moon, 
or even at a street-lamp, in the event of its being 
thick weather at the time, his dove for her would 
have been without alloy. 

As it was, Queeker thought her "desperately love- 
able,” and in his perplexity continued to write son- 
nets without number to the moon, in which efforts, 
however, he was singularly unsuccessful, owing to 
the fact that, after he had gazed at it for a consider- 
able length of time, the orb of night invariably 
adopted black ringlets and a bright sunny com- 
plexion. 

George Durants- which was the name of the bald 
fat little elderly gentleman — was Katie’s father. 
Looking at them, no one would have thought so, 
for Katie was tall and graceful in form; and her 
countenance, except when lighted up with varying 
emotion, was grave and serene. 

As Mr. Durant looked at it just then, the gravity 
had deepened into severity ; the pretty eyebrow? 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


57 


frowned darkly at the book over which they bent, 
and the rosy lips represented a compound of pursing 
and pouting as they moved and muttered something 
inaudibly. 

“What is it that puzzles you, Katie?” asked her 
father, laying down the paper. 

“ ’Sli ! ” whispered Katie, without lifting her head ; 
“ seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine, thirty-six, — 
one pound sixteen; — no, I can't get it to balance. 
Did you ever know such a provoking thing?” 

She flung down her pencil, and looked full in 
her fathers face, where fun had, for the time, so 
thoroughly conquered and overthrown benignity, that 
the frown vanished from her brow, and the rosy lips 
expanded to join her sire in a hearty fit of laughter. 

“ If you could only see your own face, Katie, when 
you are puzzling over these accounts, you would 
devote yourself ever after to drawing it, instead of 
those chalk-heads of which you are so fond.” 

“ No, I wouldn’t, papa,” said Katie, whose gravity 
quickly returned. “ It ’s all very well for you to 
joke about it, and laugh at me, but I can tell you 
that this account won't balance ; there is a two-and- 
sixpence wrong somewhere, and you know it has to 
be all copied out and sent off by the evening post 
to-morrow. I really can’t understand why we- arc 
called upon to make so many copies of all the ac- 
counts and papers for that ridiculous Board of Trade: 


58 


TIIK FLOATING LIGHT 


I’m sure they have plenty of idle clerks of their 
own, without requiring us to slave as we do — for 
such a wretched salary, too ! ” 

Katie shook her curls indignantly, as she thought 
of the unjust demands and inadequate remuneration 
of Government, and resumed her work, the frowning 
brows and pursed coral lips giving evidence of her 
immediate and total absorption in the accounts. 

Old Mr. Durant, still holding the newspaper up- 
side down, and looking over the top of it and of his 
spectacles at the fair accountant, thought in his heart 
that if the assembled Board, of which his daughter 
spoke in such contemptuous terms, could only be- 
hold her labouring at their books, in order to relieve 
her father of part of the toil, they would inconti- 
nently give orders that he should be thenceforth 
allowed a salary for a competent clerk, and that all 
the accounts sent up from Yarmouth should be 
bound in cloth of gold ! 

“ Here it is, papa, I ’ve got it !” exclaimed Katie, 
looking up with enthusiasm similar to that which 
might be expected in a youthful sportsman on the 
occasion of hooking his first salmon. “ It was the 
two-and-sixpence which you told me to give to — ” 

At that moment the outer door bell rancr. 

O 

" There ’s cousin Fanny, oh, I’m so glad!” ex- 
claimed Katie, shutting up her books and clearing 
away a multitude of papers with which the table 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


59 


was lumbered ; “ she has promised to stay a week, 
and has come in time to go with me to the singing 
class this afternoon. She ’s a darling girl, as fond 
of painting and drawing almost as I am, and hates 
cats. Oh, I do so love a girl that doesn’t like cats. 
Eh, pussy, shall I tread on your tail ? ” 

This question was put to a recumbent cat which 
lay coiled up in earthly bliss in front of the fire, 
and which Katie had to pass in carrying her armful 
of books and papers to the sideboard drawer in 
which they were wont to repose. She put out her 
foot as if to carry her threat into execution. 

“ Dare !” exclaimed Mr. Durant, with whom the 
cat was a favourite. 

“ Well, then, promise that if Mr. Queeker comes 
to-night you won’t let him stay to spoil our fun,” 
said Katie, still holding her foot over the cat’s 
unconscious tail. 

As she spoke, one of the rather heavy account- 
books (which ought to have been bound in cloth of 
gold) slipped off the pile, and, as ill luck would have 
it, fell on the identical tail in question, the cat 
belonging tc which sprang up with a fierce cater- 
waul in rampant indignation. 

“ Oh, papa, you know I didn’t mean it.” 

Mr. Durant’s eyes twinkled with amusement as 
he beheld the sudden change of poor Katie’s expres - 
sion to intense earnestness, but before he could reply 


60 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


the door was thrown open; “ cousin Fanny” rushed 
in, the cat rushed out, the two young ladies rushed 
into each other’s arms, and went in a species of 
ecstatic waltz up -stairs to enjoy the delights of a 
private interview, leaving Mr. Durant to sink into 
the arms of his easy chair and resume his paper — 
this time with the right side up ! 

Let it be understood that the old gentleman was 
employed in Yarmouth under one of the departments 
of the Board of Trade. We refrain from entering 
into particulars as to which department, lest the 
vindictive spirit which was accredited to that branch 
of the Government by Miss Katie — who being a lady, 
must of course have been right — should induce it 
to lay hold of our estimable friend and make an 
example of him for permitting his independent 
daughter to expose its true . character. In addi- 
tion to his office in this connection Mr. Durant also 
held the position of a retired merchant and ship- 
owner, and was a man of considerable wealth, 
although he lived in a quiet unostentatious way. 
In fact, his post under Government was retained 
chiefly for the purpose of extending his influence in 
his native town — for he counted himself a “ bloater ” 
— and enabling him to carry out more vigorously his 
schemes of Christian philanthropy. 

Cousin Fanny Hennings was a “ darling girl ” in 
Katie’s estimation, probably because she was her 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


Cl 


opposite in many respects, though not in all. In 
good- humour and affection they were similar, but 
.Fanny had none of Katie’s fire, or enthusiasm, or 
intellect, or mischief; she had, however, a great 
appreciation of fun, and was an inordinate giggler. 
Fat, fair, and fifteen, with flaxen curls, pink cheeks, 
and blue eyes, she was the beau-idM of a wax- 
doll, and possessed about as much self-assertion as 
may be supposed to belong to that class of the doll- 
community which is constructed so as to squeak 
when squeezed. As Katie Durant squeezed her 
friend pretty often, both mentally and physically, 
cousin Fanny squeaked a good deal more than usual 
during her occasional visits to Yarmouth, and even 
after her return home to Margate, where she and her 
widowed mother dwelt — as Queeker poetically said 
— “in a cottage by the sea.” It was usually 
acknowledged by all her friends that Fanny had 
increased her powers amazingly while absent, in so 
much that she learned at last to squeak on her own 
account without being squeezed at all. 

After the cousins had talked in private until 
they had made themselves almost too late for the 
singing- class, they issued from the house and be- 
took themselves to the temple of music, where 
some amazing pieces were performed by some thirty 
young vocalists of both sexes to their own entire 
satisfaction, and to the entire dissatisfaction, appar- 


62 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


ently, of their teacher, whose chief delight seemed 
to be to check the flow of gushing melody at a 
critical point, and exclaim, “ Try it again !” Being 
ignorant of classical music we do not venture to 
give, an opinion on these points, but it is important 
to state, as bearing on the subject in a sanitary 
point of view, that all the pupils usually left the 
class in high spirits, with the exception of Queeker, 
who had a voice like a cracked tea-kettle, knew 
no more about music than Katie’s cat — which he 
adored because it was Katie’s — and who went to the 
class, which was indebted for its discord chiefly to 
him, wholly and solely because Katie Durant went 
to it, and thus afforded him an opportunity of occa- 
sionally shaking hands with her. 

On the present evening, however, beings of a shy 
disposition, he could not bring himself to face cousin 
Fanny. He therefore left the hall miserable, and 
went home with desperate intentions as to the moon. 
Unfortunately that luminary was not visible, the 
sun having just set, but from his bedroom window, 
which commanded a view of the roadstead, he be- 
held the lantern of the St. Nicolas Gatt floating- 
light, and addressed the following lines to it mi ifch all 
the fervour incident to a hopeless affection 

“ Why blaze, ye bright benignant beaming star. 

Guiding the homebound seaman from afar. 

Lighting the outbound wand’rer on his way, 

With all the lightsome perspicuity of day ? 


OF THE GOODWIN BANDS. 


63 


Why not go out at once ! and let be hurl’d 
Dark, dread, unmitigated darkness o’er the worli? 

Why should the heavenly constellations shine ? 

Why should the weather evermore be fine ? 

Why should this rolling ball go whirling round ? 

Why should the noise of mirth and music sound ? 

Why should the sparrow chirp, the blackbird sing, 

The mountains echo, and the valleys ring, 

With all that ’s cheerful, humorous, and glad, 

Now that my heart is smitten and my brain gone mad ? ” 

Queeker fetched a long deep-drawn sigh at this 
point, the agony of intense composition being for a 
moment relaxed. Then, catching his breath and 
glaring, he went on in a somewhat gentler strain, — 

‘‘Forgive me, Floating-light, and you, ye sun, 

Moon, stars, and elements of Nature, every one ; 

I did but vent my misery and spleen 
In utt’ring words of fury that I hardly mean. 

At least I do in part — but hold ! why not ? — 

Oh ! cease ye fiendish thoughts that rage and plot 
To bring about my ruin. Hence ! avaunt ! 

Or else in pity tell me what you want. 

I cannot live, and yet I would not die ! 

My hopes are blighted ! Where, oh whither shall I fly ? 

’Tis past ! I ’ll cease to dally with vain sophistry, 

And try the virtue of a calm philosophy.” 

The effect of composition upon Queeker was such 
that when he had completed his task he felt greatly 
tranquillized, and, having shut up his portfolio, formed 
the sudden resolution of dropping in upon the 
Durants to tea. 

Meantime, and before the love- sick youth had 
begun the lines above quoted, Katie and her cousin 
walked home by a road which conducted them close 
past the edge of those extensive sandy plains called 


64 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


the Denes of Yarmouth. Here, at the corner of a 
quiet street, they were arrested by the sobbing of a 
little boy who sat on a railing by the roadside, 
swaying himself to and fro in an agony of grief. 

Katie’s sympathetic heart was instantly touched. 
She at once went up to the boy, and made earnest 
inquiries into the cause of his distress. 

“ Please, ma’am,” said the boy, “ I ’ve lost a shillin’, 
and I can’t find it nowheres. Oh, wot ever shall I 
do ? My mother gave it me to give with two other 
bobs to my poor sick brother whom I ’ve corned all 
this way to see, and there I ’ve gone an’ lost it, an’ 
I ’ll ’ave to lay out all night in the cold, for I dursn’t 
go to see ’im without the money — boo, hoo !” 

“ Oh, how very unfortunate !” exclaimed Katie with 
real feeling, for the boy, whose soul was thus steeped 
to all appearance in woe unutterable, was very small, 
and very dirty and ragged, and had an extremely 
handsome intelligent face, with a profusion of wild 
brown curls. “ But I can make that up to you, 
poor boy,” she added, drawing out her purse, “here 
is a shilling for you. Where do you live ?” 

“ At Ramsgate, ma’am.” 

“ At Ramsgate ?” exclaimed Katie in surprise, 
“ why, how did you manage to get here?” 

“ I come in a lugger, ma’am, as b’longs to a friend 
o’ ourn. We’ve just arrived, an’ we goes away agin 
to-morrow.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


65 


“ Indeed ! That will give you little time to see 
your sick brother. What is the matter with h im ?” 

“ Oh, he ’s took very bad, ma’am. I ’m sorry 
to say he ’s bad altogether, ma’am. Bin an’ run’d 
away from ’ome. A’most broke his mother’s ’eart, 
he has, an’ fail’d sick here, he did.” 

The small boy paused abruptly at this point, and 
looked earnestly in Katie’s kind and pitiful face. 

“ Where does your brother live ?” asked Katie. 

The small boy looked rather perplexed, and 
said that he couldn’t rightly remember the name 
of the street, but that the owner of the lugger 
“ know’d it.” Whereat Katie seemed disappointed, 
and said she would have been so glad to have visited 
him, and given him such little comforts as his disease 
might warrant 

“ Oh, ma’am,” exclaimed the small boy, looking 
wistfully at her with his large blue eyes, “ wot a pity 
I ’ve forgot it ! The doctor ordered J im wine too — 
it was as much as % life was worth not to ’ave wine, 
— but of course they couldn’t afford to git ’im wine — 
even cheap wine would do well enough, at two bob 
or one bob the bottle. If you was to give me two 
bob — shillins I mean, ma’am — I’d git it for ’im 
to-night.” 

Katie and her cousin conversed aside in low tones 
for a minute or two as to the propriety of comply- 
ing with this proposal, and came to the conclusion 


66 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


that the hoy was such a nice outspoken honest-like 
fellow, that it would do no harm to risk that sum in 
the circumstances. Two shillings were therefore 
put into the boy’s dirty little hand, and he was 
earnestly cautioned to take care of it, which he 
earnestly, and no doubt honestly, promised to do. 

“ What is your name, boy?” asked Katie, as she 
was about to leave him. 

“ Billy — Billy Towler, ma’am,” answered the 
urchin, pulling his forelock by way of respectful 
acknowledgment, “but my friends they calls me 
Walleye, chiefly in consikence o* my bein’ wery 
much the rewerse of blind, ma’am, and niver capable 
of bein’ cotched in a state o’ slumber at no time.” 

This reply had the effect of slightly damaging 
the small boy’s character for simplicity in Katie’s 
mind, although it caused both herself and her com- 
panion to laugh. 

“Well, Billy,” she said, opening her card-case, 
“ here is my card — give it to your sick brother, and 
when he sends it to me with his address written on 
the back of it I ’ll call on him.” 

u Thankee, ma’am,” said the small boy. 

After he had said this, he stood silently watching 
the retiring figure of his benefactress, until she was 
out of sight, and then dashing round the corner of a 
bye-street which was somewhat retired, he there 
went off into uncontrollable fits of laughter — slapped 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


67 


his small thighs, held his lean little sides with both 
hands, threw his ragged cap into the air, and in 
various other ways gave evidence of ecstatic delight. 
He was still engaged in these violent, demonstra- 
tions of feeling when Morley Jones— having just 
landed at Yarmouth, and left the sloop Nora in 
charge of young Welton — came smartly round the 
comer, and, applying his heavy boot to the small 
boy’s person, kicked him into the middle of the 
road. 


68 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTEK VI. 

THE TEMPTER AND THE TEMPTED. 

“ What are ye howlin’ there for, an’ blockin' up 
the Queen’s highway like that, you precious young 
villain?” demanded Morley Jones. 

“ An’ wot are you breakin’ the Queen’s laws for 
like that ?” retorted Billy Towler, dancing into the 
middle of the road and revolving his small fists in 
pugilistic fashion. “ You big hairy walrus, I don’t 
know whether to ’ave you up before the beaks for 
assault and battery or turn to an’ give ’ee a good 
lickin’.” 

Mr. Jones showed all his teeth with an approving 
grin, and the small boy grinned in return, but still 
kept on revolving his fists, and warning the walrus 
to “look hout and defend hisself if he didn’t want 
his daylights knocked out or his bows stove in !” 

“ You’re a smart youth, you are,” said Jones. 

“ Ha ! you ’re afraid, are you ? an’ wants to make 
friends, but I won’t ’ave it at no price. Come on, 
will you ?” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


69 


Jones, still grinning from ear to ear, made a 
rush at the urchin, who, however, evaded him with 
such ease that the man perceived he had not the 
smallest chance of catching him. 

“ I say, my lad,” he asked, stopping and becom- 
ing suddenly grave, “ where d’you come from?” 

“ I comes from where I b’longs to, and where I ’m 
agoin’ back to w’en it suits me.” 

“Very good,” retorted Jones, “ and I suppose you 
don’t object to earn a little money in an easy way ?” 

“Yes, I do object,” replied Billy; “it ain’t worth 
my while to earn a little money in any way, no 
matter how easy ; I never deals in small sums. A 
fi’ pun’ note is the lowest figur’ as I can stoop to.” 

“ You’ll not object, however, to a gift, I daresay,” 
remarked Jones, as he tossed a half-crown towards 
the boy. 

Billy caught it as deftly as a dog catches a bit of 
biscuit, looked at it in great surprise, tossed it in the 
air, bit its rim critically, and finally slid it into his 
trousers pocket. 

“Well, you know,” he said slowly, “to obleege a 
friend , I ’m willin’ to accept.” 

“Now then, youngster, if I’m willing to trust that 
half-crown in your clutches, you may believe I have 
got something to say to ’ee worth your while listenin’ 
to ; for you may see I ’m not the man to give it to 
’ee out o’ Christian charity.” 


70 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ That ’s true,” remarked Billy, who by this time 
had become serious, and stood with his hands in his 
pockets, still, however, at a respectful distance. 

“Well, the fact is,” said Mr. Jones, “that I’ve 
bin lookin’ out of late for a smart lad with a light 
heart and a light pocket, and that ain’t troubled with 
much of a conscience.” 

“ That ’s me to a tee,” said Billy promptly ; “ my 
’art ’s as light as a feather, and my pocket is as light 
as a magistrate's wisdom. As for conscience, the 
last beak as I wos introdooeed to said I must have 
bin born without a conscience altogether ; an’ ’pon 
my honour I think he wos right, for I never felt it 
yet, though I ’ve often tried — ’xcept once, w’en I ’d 
cleaned out the pocket of a old ooman as was starin’ 
in at a shop winder in Cheapside, and she fainted 
dead away w’en she found it out, and her little 
giand -darter looked so pale and pitiful that I says 
to myself, * Hallo ! Walleye, you’ve bin to the 
wrong shop this time ; go an’ put it back, ye young 
dog ;’ so I obeyed orders, an’ slipped back the purse 
while pretendin’ to help the old ooman. It wos 
risky work, though, for a bobby twigged me, and it 
was only my good wind and tough pair o’ shanks that 
saved me. Now,” continued the urchin, knitthm 
his brows as he contemplated the knotty point, 
“ I ’ve had my doubts whether that wos conscience, 
or a sort o’ nat’ral weakness pecooliar to my consti- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


71 


toot ion. I ’ve half a mind to call on the Bishop of 
London on the point one o’ these days.” 

“ So, ypu ’re a city bird,” observed Jones, admir- 
ingly. 

“ Ah, and I can see that you ’re a provincial one,” 
replied Billy, jingling the half-crown against the 
silver in his pocket. 

“ What brings you so far out of your beat, Wall- 
eye ?” inquired Jones. 

“ Oh, I ’m on circuit just now, makin’ a tower of 
the provinces. I tried a case just before you came 
up, an’ made three shillins out of it, besides no end 
o’ promises — which, unfort’nately, I can’t awail 
myself of — from a sweet young lady, with such a 
pleasant face, that I wished I could adopt her for a 
darter. But that’s an expensive luxury, you see; 
can’t afford it yet.” 

“ Well, youngster,” said Jones, assuming a more 
grave yet off-hand air, “ if you choose to trust me, 
I ’ll put you in the way of makin’ some money with- 
out much trouble. It only requires a little false 
swearing, which I daresay you are used to.” 

“ No, I ain’t,” retorted the urchin indignantly ; " I 
never tells a lie ’xcept w’en I can’t help it. Then , 
of course, a feller must do it !” 

“ Just so, Walleye, them ’s my sentiments. Have 
you got a father ? ” 

* No, nor yet a mother,” replied Billy. " As far 


72 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


as I ’m aweer of, I wos diskivered on the steps of a 
city work’us, an' my first impressions m this lile 
wos the knuckles of the old woman as hanged me 
up. The governor used to talk a lot o’ balderdash 
about our bein’ brought up ; but I knows better. I 
wos banged up ; banged up in the mornins, banged 
to meals, and banged to bed ; banged through thick 
and thin, for everything an’ for nothin’, until I 
banged myself out o’ the door one fine mornin’, 
which I banged arter me, an’ ’ave bin bangin’ about, 
a gen’lem’n at large, ever since.” 

“ Ha ! got no friends and nothin’ to do ?” said 
Morley Jones. 

“ Jis so.” 

“ Well, if you have a mind to take service with 
me, come along an’ have a pot o’ beer.” 

The man turned on his heel and walked off to a 
neighbouring public-house, leaving the small boy to 
follow or not as he pleased, and apparently quite 
indifferent as to what his decision might be. 

Billy Towler — alias Walleye — looked after him 
with an air of uncertainty. He did not like the look 
of the man, and was about to decide against him, 
when the jingle of the half-crown in his pocket 
turned the scale in his favour. Bunning after him, 
he quietly said, “ I ’m your man,” and then began to 
whistle, at the same time making an abortive effort 
to keep step with his long-limbed employer, who 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


73 


said nothing in reply, but, entering a public-house, 
ordered two pots of beer. These, when produced, 
he and bis little companion sat down to discuss in 
the most retired box in the place, and conversed in 
low tones. 

“ What was it brought you to Yarmouth, Wall- 
eye?” asked Mr. Jones. 

“ Call me Billy,” said the boy, “ I like it better.” 

“ Well, Bil ly — and, by the way, you may call me 
Morley — my name ’s Jones, but, like yourself, I have 
a preference. Now, then, what brought you here ? ” 

“ H’m, that involves a story — a hanecdote, if I 
may so speak,” replied this precocious youngstei 
with much gravity. “ You see, some time arter I 
runn’d away from the work’us, I fell’d in with an 
old gen’lem’n with a bald head an’ a fat coipus. Do 
’ee happen to know, Mr. Morley, ’ow it is that bald 
heads an’ fat corpuses a’most always go together?” 

Morley replied that he felt himself unable to 
answer that difficult question ; but supposed that as 
good-humour was said to make people fat, perhaps 
it made them bald also. 

“ I dun know,” continued Billy ; “ anyhow, this 
old gen’lem’n he took’d a fancy to me, an’ took’d 
me home to his ’otel ; for he didn’t live in London 
— wos there only on a wisit at the time he felled in 
love with me at first sight. Well, he give me a 
splendaeious suit of noo clo’es, an ’ad me put to a 


74 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


school, where I soon larned to read and write ; an' 
I do b’lieve wos on the highroad to be Lord Mayor 
of London, when the old schoolmaster died, before 
I ’d bin two year there, an’ the noo un wos so fond 
o’ the bangin' system that I couldn’t stand it, an’ so 
bid ’em all a tender farewell, an’ took to the streets 
agin. The old gen’lem’n he corned three times from 
Yarmouth, where he belonged, for to see me arter I 
wos put to the school, an’ I had a sort o’ likin’ for 
him, but not knowin’ his name, and only been aweer 
that he lived at Yarmouth, I thought I ’d have no 
chance o’ findin’ him. Over my subsikint career 
I ’ll draw a wail ; it ’s enough to say I didn’t like 
either it or my pals, so I made up my mind at last 
to go to Yarmouth an’ try to find the old gen’lem’n 
as had adopted me — that ’s what he said he ’d done 
to me. W’en I ’d prigged enough o’ wipes to pay 
my fare down, I coined away,— an’ here I am.” 

“Have you seen the old gentleman?” asked 
Morley, after a pause. 

“Ho, only just arrived this arternoon.” 

“And you don’t know his name, nor where he 
lives ?” 

“No.” 

“ And how did you expect to escape bein’ nabbed 
and put in limbo as a vagrant ?” inquired Morley. 

“By gittin’ employment, of coorse, from some 
respectable gen’lem’n like yourself, an’ then runnin* 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


75 


away from ’im w’en I ’d diskivered the old chap wi’ 
the bald head.” 

Morley Jones smiled grimly. 

“ Well, my advice to you is,” he said, “ to fight 
shy of the old chap, even if you do discover him. 
Depend upon it the life you would lead under his 
eye would be one of constant restraint and worry. 
He ’d put you to school again, no doubt, where you ’d 
get banged as before — a system I don’t approve of 
at all — and be made a milksop and a flunkey, or 
something o’ that sort — whereas the life you ’ll lead 
with me will be a free and easy rollikin’ manly sort 
o’ life. Half on shore and half at sea. Do what 
you like, go where you will, — when business has 
bin attended to — victuals and clothing free gratis, 
and pocket-money enough to enable you to enjoy 
yourself in a moderate sort of way. You see I ’m not 
goin’ to humbug you. It won’t be all plain sailin’, 
but what is a man worth if he ain’t fit to stand a little 
rough-and-tumble? Besides, rough work makes a 
fellow take his ease with all the more zest. A life 
on the ocean wave one week, with hard work, and a 
run on shore the next week, with just enough to do 
to prevent one weary in’. That ’s the sort o’ thing for 
you and me, Billy, eh boy ?” exclaimed the tempter, 
growing garrulous in his cups, and giving his small 
victim a pat on the shoulder, which, although meant 
to be a facetious touch, well-nigh unseated him. 


76 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Billy Towler recovered himself, however, and re - 
ceived it as it was meant, in perfect good humour. 
The beer had mounted to his own little brain, and 
his large eyes glowed with more than natural light 
as he sat gazing into his companion’s rugged face, 
listening with delight to the description of a mode 
of life which he thought admirably suited to his 
tastes and capabilities. He was, however, a shrewd 
little creature. Sad and very rough experience of 
life had taught him to be uncommonly circumspect 
for his years. 

“What’s your business, Morley?” he demanded 
eagerly. 

“ I ’ve a lot of businesses,” said Mr. Jones with a 
drunken leer, “ but my principal one is fishcuring. 
I’m a sort of shipowner too. Leastwise I’ve got 
two craft — one bein’ a sloop, the other a boat. 
Moreover, I charter no end of vessels, an’ do a good 
deal in the insurance way. But you ’ll understand 
more about these things all in good time, Billy. 1 
live, while I ’m at home, in Gravesend, but I ’ve got 
a daughter and a mother livin’ at Yarmouth, so I 
may say I’ve got a home at both places. It’s a 
convenient sort o’ thing, you see, — a town residence 
and a country villa, as it were. Come, I ’ll take you 
to the villa now, and introduce ’ee to the women.” 

So saying, this rascal paid for the poison he had 
been administering in large doses to himself and his 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


77 


apprentice, and, taking Billy’s dirty little hand in 
his large horny fist, led him towards the centre 
of the town. 

Poor Billy little knew the nature of the awful 
gulf of sin and misery into which he was now 
plunging with a headlong hilarious vivacity pecu- 
liarly his own. He was, indeed, well enough aware 
of the fact that he was a thief, and an outcast from 
society, and that he was a habitual breaker of the 
laws of God and man, but he was naturally ignorant 
of the extent of his guilt, as well as of the certain 
and terrible end to which it pointed, and, above all, 
he had not the most remote conception of the almost 
hopeless slavery to which he was doomed when 
once fairly secured in the baleful net which Morley 
Jones had begun to twine around him. 

But a higher Power was leading the poor child in 
a way that he knew not — a way that was little 
■uspected by his tempter — a way that has been the 
means of snatching many and many a little one 
from destruction in time past, and that will cer- 
tainly save many more in time to come — as long as 
Christian men and women band together to unite 
their prayers and powers for the rescue of perishing 
souls. 

Traversing several streets with unsteady gait — 
for he was now much the worse of drink — Mr. 
Jones led his willing captive down one of those 


78 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


innumerable narrow streets, or passages, termed 
“rows,” which bear some resemblance to the “closes” 
of the Scottish capital. In width they are much 
the same, but in cleanliness there is a vast difference, 
for whereas the closes of the northern capital are 
notorious for dirt, the rows of Yarmouth are cele- 
brated for their neat tidy aspect. What the cause 
of the neatness of the latter may be we cannot tell, 
but we can bear the testimony of an eye-witness to 
the fact that— considering the class of inhabitants 
who dwell in them, their laborious lives and limited 
means — the rows are wondrously clean. Nearly all 
of them are paved with pebbles or bricks. The 
square courts 'opening out of them on right and left, 
although ridiculously small, are so thoroughly scoured 
and swept that one might roll on their floors with 
white garments and remain unsoiled. In each court 
may be observed a water-bucket and scrubbing-brush 
wet, usually, from recent use, also a green painted 
box-garden of dimensions corresponding to the court, 
full of well-tended flowers. Almost every door has 
a wooden or stone step, and each step is worn and 
white with repeated scrubbings— insomuch that one 
is irresistibly led to suspect that the * Bloaters” 
must have a strong infusion of the Dutch element 
in their nature. 

Emerging at the lower end of the row, Mr. Jones 
and his small companion hastened along the centre 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


79 


of a narrow street which led them into one of much 
wider dimensions, named Friar’s Lane. Proceeding 
along this for some time, they diverged to the right 
into another of the rows not far from the old city- # 
wall, at a place where one of the massive towers 
still rears its rugged head as a picturesque ruin. 
The moon sailed out from under a mass of clouds 
at this point, giving to objects the distinctness of 
daylight. Hitherto Billy Towler had retained some 
idea of the direction in which he was being led, 
but this last turn threw his topographical ideas into 
utter confusion. 

“ A queer place this,” he remarked, as they 
emerged from the narrowest passage they had yet 
traversed into a neat, snug, and most unexpected 
little square, with a garden in the middle of it, and a 
flagstaff in one corner. 

“ Adam-and-Eve gardens, they call it,” said Mr. 
Jones ; “ we’re pretty nigh home now.” 

“ I wonder they didn’t call it Eden at once,” ob- 
served Billy; “it would have been shorter and 
comes to the same thing.” 

“ Here we are at last,” said Mr. Jones, stumbling 
against a small door in one of the network of rows 
that surrounded this Yarmouth paradise. “ Hope 
the women are in,” he added, attempting to lift 
the latch, but, finding that the door was locked, ha 
hammered at it with foot and fist violently. 


&() 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ Hallo !” shouted the deep voice of a man within. 

“ Hallo, indeed ! Who may you be ?” growled 
Mr. Jones with an angry oath. “Open the door, 
will you?” 

The door was opened at once by James Welton, 
who stood aside to let the other pass. 

“ Oh ! it’s you, is it ?” said Mr. Jones. “ Didn’t 
recognise your voice through the door. I thought 
you couldn’t have got the sloop made snug so soon. 
Well, lass, how are ’ee ; and how ’s the old ooman ?” 

As the man made these inquiries in a half-hearty 
voice, he advanced into a poorly-furnished apart- 
ment, so small and low that it seemed a couple of 
sizes too small for him, and bestowed a kiss first 
upon the cheek of his old mother, who sat cowering 
over the fire, but brightened up on hearing his voice, 
and then upon the forehead of his daughter Nora, 
the cheerfulness of whose greeting, however, was 
somewhat checked when she observed the intoxi- 
cated state of her father. 

Nora had a face which, though not absolutely 
pretty, was intensely winsome in consequence of an 
air of quiet womanly tenderness which surrounded 
it as with a halo. She was barely eighteen, but 
her soft eyes possessed a look of sorrow and suffer- 
ing which, if not natural to them, had, at all events, 
become habitual. 

“Who is this little boy, father?” she said, turn- 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


81 


ing towards Billy Towler, who still stood in the 
doorway a silent but acute observer of all that 
went on. 

“ Oh, that ? why — a — that *s my noo ’prentice just 
come down from Gravesend. He’s been helpin’ 
for some time in the ‘hang’” (by which Mr. Jones 
meant the place where his fish were cured), “and 
I ’m goin’ to take him to sea with me next trip. 
Come in, Billy, and make yourself at home.” 

The boy obeyed with alacrity, and made no 
objection to a cup of tea and slice of bread and 
butter which Nora placed before him — supper being 
just then in progress. 

“ You ’d better get aboard as soon as may 
be,” said Jones to Jim Welton somewhat sternly. 
“ I didn’t expect you to leave the sloop to- 
night” 

“ And I didn’t intend to leave her,” replied Jim, 
taking no notice of the tone in which this was 
said ; “ but I thought I ’d come up to ask if you 
wished me to begin dischargin’ early to-morrow 
morning.” 

“Ho, we’re not going to discharge,” returned 
Jones. # 

“ Hot going toxdischarge !” echoed Jim in surprise. 

“Ho. I find that it’s not worth while discharg- 
ing any part of the cargo here. On the contrary, I 
mean to fill up with bloaters and run over with 


82 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


them to the coast of France ; so you can go and 
stow the top tier of casks more firmly, and get ready 
for the noo ones. Good-night.” 

The tone in which this was said left no excuse for 
Jim to linger, so he bade the household good-night 
and departed. 

He had not gone far, however, when he was ar- 
rested by the sound of a light footstep. It was that 
of Nora, who had followed him. 

“ Nora !” exclaimed the young sailor in surprise, 
returning quickly and taking one of the girl’s hands 
in both of his. 

“ Oh, Jim !” said Nora, with a look and tone of 
earnest entreaty, “ don’t, don’t forsake him just 
now — if the love which you have so often pro- 
fessed for me be true, don’t forsake him, I beseech 
you.” 

Jim protested in the most emphatic terms that 
he had no intention of forsaking anybody, and made 
a great many more protestations, in the midst of 
which there were numerous ardent and more or 
less appropriate references to hearts that never 

deserted their colours, sheet-anchors that held on 

% 

through thick and thin, and needles that pointed, 
without the smallest shadow of variation, to the 
pole. 

“ But what makes you think I ’m going to leave 
him ?” he asked, at the end of one of those flights. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


83 


* Because he is so rough to ’ee, Jim,” replied the 
girl, leaning her head on her lover’s shoulder ; “ he 
spoke so gruff even now, and I thought you went 
away huffed. Oh, Jim, you are the only one that 
has any influence over him — ” 

“ Not the only one,” returned Jim, quietly 
smoothing the fair girl’s hair with his hard strong 
hand. 

“Well, the only man , at any rate,” continued 
Nora, “ especially when he is overcome with that 
dreadful drink. Dear Jim, you won’t forsake him, 
will you, even though he should insult, even though 
he should strike you ? ” 

“ No, never ! Because he is your father, Nora, 
I ’ll stick by him in spite of all he can say or do to 
me, and try, God helping me, to save him. But I 
cannot stick by him if — ” 

“ If what ?” asked the girl anxiously, observing 
that he hesitated. 

“ If he does anything against the laws,” said Jim 
in a low voice. “It isn’t that I ’m afraid of my 
good name — I ’d even let that go, for your sake, if 
by so doing I could get him out of mischief ; and as 
long as I know nothing against him for certain , , I ’ll 
stand by him. But if he does fall, and I come to 
know it, I must leave him, Nora, because I won’t be 
art and part in it. I could no longer go on my 
knees to pray for him if I did that, Nora. More- 


84 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


over, if anything o’ that sort should happen, I 
must leave the country, because he’d be sure 
to he caught and tried, and I will never stand 
witness against your father if I can avoid it by 
fair means.” 

Poor Nora hung her head as she asked in a low 
voice if Jim really thought her father was engaged 
in illegal practices. 

“ I can’t say that I do,” replied the youth earnestly. 
“ Come, cheer up, dearest Nora. After all, it is 
chiefly through reports that my suspicions have been 
aroused, and we all know how easy it is for an enemy 
to raise an evil report. But, Nora, I wish you had 
not bound me to secrecy as to my' reason for stick- 
ing by your father. Why should I not say boldly 
that it’s all for love of you ?” 

“ Why should you wish to give any reason at all, 
Jim, and above all, that reason ?” asked Nora, look- 
ing up with a blush. 

“ Because,” said the youth, with a perplexed look, 
“my secrecy about the matter has puzzled my 
father to such an extent that his confidence in me is 
entirely shaken. I have been all my life accus- 
tomed to open all my heart to him, and now, without 
rhyme or reason, as he thinks, I have suddenly gone 
right round on the other tack, and at the same time, 
as he says, I have taken up with doubtful company 
Now, if—” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 




The sound of approaching footsteps here brought 
the interview to an abrupt close. Nora ran hack to 
her poor home, and Jim Welton, directing his steps 
towards the harbour, returned on board the little 
sloop which had been named after the girl of his 
heart. 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 




CHAPTEE VII. 

TREATS OF QUEERER AND OTHERS — ALSO OF YOUTHFUL JEALOUSY, 
LOVE, POETRY, AND CONFUSION OF IDEAS. 

Eeturning, now, to the moon- struck and Katie- 
pmitten Queeker, we find that poetic individual 
walking disconsolately in front of Mr. George 
Durant’s mansion. 

In a previous chapter it has been said that, after 
composing his celebrated lines to the lantern of the 
floating light, he resolved to drop in upon the 
Durants about tea-time — and well did Queeker 
know their tea-time, although, every time he went 
there uninvited, the miserable hypocrite expressed 
surprise at finding them engaged with that meal, 
and said he had supposed they must have finished 
tea by that time ! 

But, on arriving at the corner of the street, his 
fluttering heart failed him. The thought of the 
cousin was a stumbling-block which he could not 
surmount. He had never met her before ; he feared 
that she might be witty, or sarcastic, or sharp in 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


87 


some way or other, and would certainly make game 
of him in the presence of Katie. He had observed 
this cousin narrowly at the singing- class, and had 
been much impressed with her appearance; but 
whether this impression was favourable or unfavour- 
able was to him, in the then confused state of his 
feelings, a matter of great uncertainty. How that 
he was about to face her, he felt convinced that she 
must be a cynic, who would poison the mind of 
Katie against him, and no power within his unfortu- 
nate body was capable of inducing him to advance 
and raise the knocker. 

Thus he hung in torments of suspense until nine 
o'clock, when, in a fit of desperation, he rushed 
madly at the door and committed himself by hitting 
it with his fist. 

His equanimity was not restored by its being 
opened by Mr. Durant himself. 

“ Queeker !” exclaimed the old gentleman in sur- 
prise; “come in, my dear sir; did you stumble 
against the door ? I hope you haven’t hurt your- 
self?" 

“ Hot at all — a — no, not at all ; the fact is, I ran 
up the steps rather hastily, and — how do you do, 
Miss Durant ? I hope you are quite well ?” 

Poor Queeker said this and shook hands with as 
much earnestness as if he had not seen Katie for 
five years. 


88 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ Quite well, thank you. My cousin, Fanny 
Hennings — Mr. Queeker.” 

Fanny bowed and Mr. Queeker bowed, and, with 
a flushed countenance, asked her about the state of 
her health with unnatural anxiety. 

“Thank you, Mr. S queeker, I am very well,' 
replied Fanny. 

The unhappy youth would have corrected her in 
regard to his name, but hesitated and missed the 
opportunity, and when, shortly afterwards, while 
engaged in conversation with Mr. Durant, he ob- 
served Fanny giggling violently in a corner by her- 
self, he felt assured that Katie had kindly made the 
correction for him. 

The announcement of supper relieved him slightly, 
and he was beginning to calm down over a piece of 
bread and cheese when the door-bell rang. Imme- 
diately after a heavy foot was heard in the passage, 
the parlour door was flung open, the maid announced 
Mr. Hall, and a tall elegant young man entered the 
room. His figure was slender, but his chest was 
deep and his shoulders were broad and square. An 
incipient moustache of fair hair floated like a sum- 
mer cloud on his upper lip, which expanded with a 
hearty smile as he advanced towards Mr. Durant 
and held out his hand. 

“You have forgotten me, I fear,” he said. 

“ Forgotten you !” exclaimed the old gentleman. 


or THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


89 


starting up and seizing the young man's hand, which 
he shook violently — “ forgotten Stanley Hall — little 
Stanney, as I used to call you ? Man, how you arc 
grown, to be sure. What a wonderful change !” 

“For the worse, I fear!” exclaimed the youth, 
laughing. 

“ Come, no fishing for compliments, sir. Let me 
introduce you to my daughter Katie, my niece 
Fanny Hennings, and my young friend Queeker. 
How, then, sit down, and make yourself at home ; 
you 're just in time ; we 've only just begun ; ring 
the bell for another plate, Katie. How glad I am 
to see you, Stanney, my boy — I can’t call you by 
any other than the old name, you see. How did 
you leave your father, and what brings you here ? 
Come, out with it all at once. I declare you have 
quite excited me.” 

Well was it for poor Queeker that every one was 
too much occupied with the new comer to pay any 
attention to him, for he could not prevent his visage 
from betraying something of the feelings which har- 
rowed up his soul. The moment he set eyes on 
Stanley Hall, mortal jealousy — keen, rampant, viru- 
lent jealousy of the worst type — penetrated every 
fibre of his being, and turned his heart to stone ! 
We cannot afford space to detail the various shades 
of agony, the degrees of despair, through which this 
unfortunate young man passed during that evening. 


90 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


A thick volu me would not suffice to contain it all. 
Language is powerless to express it. Only those 
who have similarly suffered can conceive it. 

Of course, we need scarcely add that there was no 
occasion for jealousy. Nothing was further from 
the mind of Stanley than the idea of falling in love 
with Katie. Nevertheless, politeness required that 
he should address himself to her occasionally. At 
such times, Queeker’s soul was stabbed in an un- 
utterable manner. He managed to command him- 
self, notwithstanding. To his credit, be it said, that 
he refrained from using the carving-knife. He even 
joined with some show of interest (of course hypo- 
critical) in the conversation. 

Stanley Hall was not only good-looking, but good- 
humoured, and full of quiet fun and anecdote, so 
that he quickly ingratiated himself with all the 
members of the family. 

“ D’ you know it makes me feel young again to 
hear these old stories about your father’s college-life,” 
said Mr. Durant. “ Have some more cheese, Stan- 
ney — you look like a man who ought to have a good 
appetite — fill your glass and pass the bottle — thanks. 
Now, how comes it that you have turned up in this 
out-of-the-way part of the world? By-the-bye, I 
hope you intend to stay some time, and that you 
will take up your quarters with me? You can’t 
imagine how much pleasure it would give me to 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


91 


have the son of my old companion as a guest for 
some time. I’m sure that Katie joins me heartily 
in this hope.” 

Queeker’s spirit sank with horror, and when Katie 
smilingly seconded her father’s proposal, his heart 
stood still with dismay. Fanny Hennings, who had 
begun to suspect that there was something wrong 
with Queeker, put her handkerchief to her mouth, 
and coughed with what appeared to be unreasonable 
energy. 

“I regret,” said Stanley (and Queeker’s breath 
came more freely), “ that my stay must necessarily be 
short. I need not say that it would afford me the 
highest pleasure to accept your kind invitation ” (he 
turned with a slight bow to Katie, and Queeker al- 
most fainted), “but the truth is, that I have come 
down on a particular piece of business, in regard to 
which I wish to have your advice, and must return 
to London to-morrow or next day at furthest.” 

Queeker’s heart resumed its office. 

“ I am sorry to hear that — very sorry. However, 
you shall stay to-night at all events ; and you shall 
have the best advice I can give you on any subject 
you choose to mention. By the way, talking of 
advice, you ’re an M.D. now, I fancy ?” 

“Not yet,” replied Stanley. “I am not quite 
fledged, although nearly so, and I wish to go on a 
voyage before completing my course.* 


92 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ Quite right, quite right — see a little of life first, 
eh? But how comes it, Stanney, that you took 
kindly to the work at last, for, when I knew you 
first you could not bear the idea of becoming a 
doctor V * 

“ One’s ideas change, I suppose,” replied the youth, 
with a smile, — “ probably my making the discovery 
that I had some talent in that direction had some- 
thing to do with it.” 

“ H’m; how did you make that discovery, my boy?” 
asked the old gentleman. 

“ That question can’t easily be answered except 
by my inflicting on you a chapter of my early life,” 
replied Stanley, laughing. 

“ Then inflict it on us without delay, my boy. I 
shall delight to listen, and so, I am sure, will Katie 
and Fanny. As to my young friend Queeker, he is 
of a somewhat literary turn, and may perhaps throw 
the incidents into verse, if they are of a sufficiently 
romantic character ! ” 

Katie and Fanny declared they would be charmed 
to hear about it, and Queeker said, in a savagely 
jesting tone, that he was so used to things being in- 
flicted on him, that he didn’t mind — rather liked it 
than otherwise ! 

“ But you must not imagine,” said Stanley, “ that 
I have a thrilling narrative to give you. I can 
merely relate the two incidents which fixed mj 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


93 


destiny in regard to a profession. You remember, 
I daresay, that my heart was once set upon going to 
sea. Well, like most boys, I refused to listen to 
advice on that point, and told my father that I should 
never make a surgeon — that I had no taste or talent 
for the medical profession. The more my father 
tried to reason me out of my desire, the more obstinate 
I became. The only excuse that I can plead is that 
I was very young, very ignorant, and very stupid. 
One day, however, I was left in the surgery with a 
number of dirty phials to wash — my father having 
gone to visit a patient at a short distance, when our 
servant came running in, saying that there was a 
cab at the door with a poor boy who had got his 
cheek badly cut. As I knew that my father would 
be at home in less than quarter of an hour, I ordered 
him to be brought in. The poor child — a little deli- 
cate boy — was very pale, and bleeding profusely 
from a deep gash in the cheek, made accidentally 
by a knife with which he had been playing. The 
mouth was cut open almost to the ear. We laid 
him on a sofa, and I did what I could to stop the 
flow of blood. I was not sixteen at the time, and, 
being very small for my age, had never before felt 
myself in a position to offer advice, and indeed I 
had not much to offer. But one of the bystanders 
said to me while we were looking at the child, — 
“‘What do you think should be done, sir?* 


94 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ The mere fact of being asked my opinion gratified 
my vanity, and the respectful ‘ sir ’ with which the 
question concluded caused my heart to beat high 
with unwonted emotion. It was the first time I 
had ever been addressed gravely as a man ; it was 
a new sensation, and I think may be regarded as an 
era in my existence. 

“ With much gravity I replied that of course the 
wound ought to be sewed up. 

“‘Then the sooner it’s done the better, I think/ 
said the bystander, ‘for the poor child will bleed 
to death if it is allowed to go on like that/ 

“ A sudden resolution entered into my mind. I 
stroked my chin and frowned, as if in deep thought, 
then, turning to the man who had spoken, said, — 
‘ It ought certainly to be done with as little delay as 
possible ; I expect my father to return every minute ; 
but as it is an. urgent case, I will myself undertake it, 
if the parents of the child have no objection/ 

“‘Seems to me, lad/ remarked a country fellow, 
who had helped to carry the child in, ‘ that it beant 
a time to talk o’ parients objectin’ w’en the cheeld’s 
blood’n to deth. Ye’d better fa’ to work at once — 
if jjee knows how/ 

“I cast upon this man a look of scorn, but made 
no reply. Going to the drawer in which the surgical 
instruments were kept, I took out those that suited 
my purpose, and went to work with a degree of 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


95 


coolness which astonished myself. I had often seen 
my father sew np wounds, and had assisted at many 
an operation of the kind, so that, although altogether 
unpractised, I was not ignorant of the proper mode 
of procedure. The people looked on with breath- 
less interest. When I had completed the operation, 
I saw my father looking over the shoulders ol 
the people with an expression of unutterable sur- 
prise not unmingled with amusement. I blushed 
deeply, and began some sort of explanation, which, 
however, he cut short by observing in an off-hand 
manner, that the thing had been done very well, and 
the child had better be carried into my bedroom and 
left there to rest for some time. He thus got the 
people out of the surgery, and then, when we were 
alone, told me that I was a born surgeon, that he 
could not have done it much better himself, and, in 
short, praised me to such an extent that I felt quite 
proud of my performance.” 

Queeker, who had listened up to this point with 
breathless attention, suddenly said, — 

“ D’ you mean to say that you really did that V* 

“ I do,” replied Stanley with an amused smile. 

“ Sewed up a mouth cut all the way to the ear?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ With a— a—” 

“ With a needle and thread,” said Stanley. 

Queeker’s powers of utterance were paralysed. He 


96 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


looked at the young doctor with a speck s of awe- 
stricken admiration. Jealousy, for the time, was 
in abeyance. 

“ This, then, was the beginning of your love for 
the profession ?” said Mr. Durant. 

“ Undoubtedly it was, but a subsequent event 
confirmed me in my devotion to it, and induced me 
to give up all thoughts of the sea. The praise that 
I had received from my father — who was not usually 
lavish of complimentary remarks — made me am- 
bitious to excel in other departments of surgery, so 
I fixed upon the extraction of teeth as my next step 
in the profession. My father had a pretty large 
practice in that way. We lived, as you remember, 
in the midst of a populous rural district, and had 
frequent visits from farm servants and labourers with 
heads tied up and lugubrious faces. 

“ I began to fit myself for duty by hammering big 
nails into a block of wood, and drawing them out 
again. This was a device of my own, for I wished 
to give my father another surprise, and did not wish 
to betray what I was about, by asking his advice as 
to how I should proceed. I then extracted the teeth 
from the jaw-bones of all the sheep’s-heads that I 
could lay hands on ; after a good deal of practice in 
this way,. I tried to tempt our cook with an offer of 
five shillings to let me extract a back tooth which 
had caused her a great deal of suffering at intervals 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


97 


for many months ; but she was a timid woman, and 
would not have allowed me for five guineas, I believe, 
even to look into her mouth. I also tried to tempt 
our small stable-boy with a similar sum. He was 
a plucky little fellow, and, although there was not 
an unsound tooth in his head, agreed to let me draw 
one of the smallest of his back teeth for seven and 
sixpence if it should come out the first pull, and six- 
pence for every extra rug ! I thought the little 
fellow extravagant in his demands, but, rather than 
lose the chance, submitted. He sat down quite 
boldly on our operating chair, but grew pale when I 
advanced with the instrument; when I tried to 
open his mouth, he began to whimper, and finally, 
struggling out of my grasp, fled. I afterwards gave 
him sixpence, however, for affording me, as I told 
him, so much pleasurable anticipation. 

“ After this I cast about for another subject, but 
failed to procure a live one. It occurred to me, 
however, that I might try my hand on two skeletons 
that hung in our garret, so I got their heads off with- 
out delay, and gradually extracted every tooth in 
their jaws. As there were about sixty teeth, I think, 
in each pair, I felt myself much improved before the 
jaws were toothless. At last, I resolved to take ad- 
vantage of the first opportunity that should offer, 
during my father’s absence, to practise on the living 
subject. It was not long before I had a chance. 

G 


98 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ One morning my father went out, leaving me in 
the surgery, as was his wont. I was deeply im- 
mersed in a book on anatomy, when I heard a tre- 
mendous double rap — as if made with the head of a 
stick — at the outer door, and immediately after the 
question put in the gruff bass voice of an Irishman, 
* Is the daetur within ?’ 

. “ A tremendous growl of disappointment followed 
the reply. Then, after a pause, ‘ Is the assistant 
within?’ This was followed by a heavy tread in 
the passage, and, next moment, an enormous man, in 
very ragged fustian, with a bronzed hairy face, and 
a reaping-hook under his arm, stood in the surgery, 
his head almost touching the ceiling. 

“ ‘ Sure it ’s niver the dactur’s assistant ye are V 
he exclaimed, with a look of surprise. 

“ I rose, drew myself up, and, endeavouring to 
look very solemn, said that I was, and demanded to 
know if I could do anything for him. 

“ * Ah, then, it ’s a small assistant ye are, anyhow/ 
he remarked; but stopped suddenly and his huge 
countenance was convulsed with pain, as he clapped 
his hand to his face, and uttered a groan, which was 
at least three parts composed of a growl. 

“ * Hooroo ! whirr-r-hach ! musha, but it ’s like 
the cratnr o’ Yesoovious all alive — o- — in me head. 
Av it don’t split up me jaw — there — ha — och V 
u The giant stamped his foot with such violence 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


99 


that all the glasses, cups, and vials in the room rang 
again, and, clapping both hands over his mouth, he 
bent himself double in a paroxysm of agony. 

“I felt a strange mixture of wild delight and 
alarm shoot through me. The chance had come in 
my way, but in anticipating it I had somehow always 
contemplated operating on some poor boy or old 
* r oman. My thoughts had never depicted such a 
herculean and rude specimen of humanity. At first, 
he would not believe me capable of extracting a 
tooth; but I spoke with such cool self-possession 
and assurance — though far from feeling either — 
that he consented to submit to the operation. For 
the sake of additional security, I seated him on the 
floor, and took his head between my knees ; and I 
confess that when seated thus, in such close proxi- 
mity to his rugged as well as massive head, gazing 
into the cavern filled with elephantine tusks, my 
heart almost failed me. Far back, in the darkest 
corner of the cave, I saw the decayed tooth — a mas- 
sive lump of glistening ivory, with a black pit in 
the middle of it. Screwing up my courage to the 
utmost, I applied the key. The giant winced at the 
touch, but clasped his hard hands together — evi- 
dently prepared for the worst. I began to twist 
with right good-will. The man roared furiously, 
and gave a convulsive heave that almost upset my- 
self and the big chair, and disengaged the key I 


100 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ ‘ Oh, come/ said I, remonstratively, 4 you ought 
to stand it better than that ! why, the worst of it wa,s 
almost over/ 

“ ‘ Was it, though ? ’ he inquired earnestly, with an 
upward glance, that gave to his countenance in that 
position a hideous^ aspect. * Sure it had need be, 
for the worst oaits^ all that Aver I dramed of. Go 
at it again, me boy/ 

“ Eesolving to make sure work of it next time, I 
fixed the key again, and, after getting it pretty tight 
— at which point he evidently fancied the worst had 
been again reached — I put forth all my strength in 
one tremendous twist. 

“ I failed for a moment to draw the tusk, but I 
drew forth a prolonged roar, that can by no means 
be conceived or described. The Irishman struggled. 
I held on tight to his head with my knees. The 
chair tottered on its legs. Letting go the hair of 
his head, I clapped my left hand to my right, and 
with both arms redoubled the strain. The roar rose 
into a terrible yowl. There was a crash like the 
rending of a forest tree. I dropped the instrument, 
sprang up, turned the chair on the top of the man, 
and cramming it down on him rushed to the door, 
which I threw open, and then faced about. 

“ There was a huge iron pestle lying on a table near 
my hand. Seizing it, I swayed it gently to and fro, 
ready to knock him down with it if he should 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


101 


rush at me, or to turn and fly, as should seem most 
advisable. I was terribly excited, and a good deal 
alarmed as to the possible consequences, but managed 
with much difficulty to look collected. 

“The big chair was hurled into a corner as he 


rose sputtering from the floor, and holding his jaws 
with both hands. 

“ ‘ Och ! ye spalpeen, is that the way ye trait 
people?’ 

“‘Yes/ I replied in a voice of forced calmness, 

* we usually put a restraint on strong men like you, 
when they ’re likely to be violent.’ 

“I saw the corners of his eyes wrinkle a little, 
and felt more confidence. 

“ ‘ Arrah, but it ’s the jawbone ye ’ve took out, ye 
goormacalluchscrowl ! ’ 

“ ‘ No, it isn’t, it ’s only the tooth,’ I replied, going 
forward and picking it up from the floor. 

“ The amazement of the man is not to be described. 
I gave him a tumbler of water, and, pointing to a 
basin, told him to wash out his mouth, which he did, 
looking at me all the time, however, and following 
me with his astonished eyes, as I moved about the 
room. He seemed to have been bereft of the power 
of speech ; for all that he could say after that was, 

* Och ! av yer small yer diver ! * 

“ On leaving he asked what was to pay. I said 
that I’d ask nothing, as he had stood it so well ; and 


102 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


he left me with the same look of astonishment in 
his eyes and words of commendation on his lips.” 

“ Well, that was a tremendous experience to begin 
with,” said Mr. Durant, laughing ; “ and so it made 
you a doctor ? ” 

* It helped. When my father came home I pre- 
sented him with the tooth, and from that day to this 
I have been hard at work ; but I feel a little seedy 
just now from over-study, so I have resolved to try 
to get a berth as surgeon on board a ship bound for 
India, Australia, China, or South America ; and, as 
you are a shipowner and old friend, I thought it 
just possible you might be not onlv willing but able 
to help me to what I want.” 

“ And you thought right, Stanney, my boy,” said 
the old gentleman heartily ; “ I have a ship going to 
sail for India in a few weeks, and we have not yet 
appointed a surgeon. You shall have that berth if 
it suits you.” 

At this point they were interrupted by the en- 
trance of a servant maid with the announcement 
that there was a man in the lobby who wished to 
see Mr. Durant. 

“ I ’ll be back shortly,” said the old gentleman to 
Stanley as he rose ; “ go to the drawing-room, girls, 
and give Mr. Hall some music. You ’ll find that my 
Katie sings and plays very sweetly, although she 
won’t let me say so. Fanny joins her with a fine 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


103 


contralto, I believe, and Queeker, too, he sings — a — 
a what is it, Queeker ? — a bass or a baritone — eh ? ” 

Without waiting for a reply, Mr. Durant left the 
room, and found Morley Jones standing in the lobby 
hat in hand. 

The old gentleman’s expression changed instantly, 
and he said with much severity — 

“ Well, Mr. Jones, what do you want ? ” 

Morley begged the favour of a private interview for 
a few minutes. After a moment’s hesitation, Mr. 
Durant led him into his study. 

“ Another loan, I suppose ?” said the old gentle- 
man, as he lit the gas. 

“ I had expected to have called to pay the last 
loan, sir,” replied Mr. J ones somewhat boldly, “ but 
one can’t force the market. I have my sloop down 
here loaded with herrings, and if I chose to sell at a 
loss, could pay my debt to you twice over; but 
surely it can scarcely be expected of me to do that. 
I hear there is a rise in France just now, and mean to 
run over there with them. I shall be sure to dis- 
pose of ’em to advantage. On my return, I ’ll pay 
your loan with interest” 

Morley Jones paused, and Mr. Durant looked at 
him attentively for a few seconds. 

“ Is this all you came to tell me ?” 

“ Why, no sir, not exactly,” replied J ones, a little 
disconcerted by the stern manner of the old gentle- 


104 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


man. “ The sloop is not quite filled up, she could 
stow a few more casks, but I have been cleaned 
out, and unless I can get the loan of forty or fifty 
pounds — ” 

“ Ha ! I thought so. Are you aware, Mr. Jones, 
that your character for honesty has of late been 
called in question ?” 

“ I am aware that I have got enemies,” replied 
the fish-merchant coldly. “ If their false reports 
are to be believed to my disadvantage, of course I 
cannot expect — ” 

" It is not my belief in their reports,” replied Mr. 
Durant, “ that creates suspicion in me, but I couple 
these reports with the fact that you have again and 
again deceived me in regard to the repayment of 
the loans which you have already received at various 
times from me.” 

“ I can’t help ill-luck, sir,” said Morley with a 
downcast look. “ If men’s friends always deserted 
them at the same time with fortune there would be 
an end of all trade.” 

“ Mr. Jones,” said the other decidedly, “ I tell you 
plainly that you are presumptuous when you count 
me one of your friends. Your deceased brother, 
having been an old and faithful servant of mine, was 
considered by me a friend, and it is out of regard to 
his memory alone that I have assisted you. Even 
now, I will lend you the sum you ask, but bo 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


106 


assured it is the last you shall ever get from me. I 
distrust you, sir, and I tell you so — flatly.” 

While he was speaking the old gentleman had 
opened a desk. He now sat down and wrote out a 
cheque, which he handed to his visitor, who received 
it with a grim smile and a curt acknowledgment, 
and instantly took his leave. 

Mr. Durant smoothed the frown from his brow, 
and returned to the drawing-room, where Katie’s 
sweet voice instantly charmed away the memory of 
the evil spirit that had just left him. 

The table was covered with beautiful pencil 
sketches and chalk-heads and water-colour drawings 
in various stages of progression — all of which were 
the production of the same fair, busy, and talented 
little hand that copied the accounts for the Board of 
Trade, for love instead of money, without a blot, and 
without defrauding of dot or stroke a single i or t ! 

Queeker was gazing at one of the sketches with 
an aspect so haggard and savage that Mr. Durant 
could not refrain from remarking it. 

“ Why, Queeker, you seem to be displeased with 
that drawing, eh ? What ’s wrong with it ?” 

“ Oh, ah !” exclaimed the youth, starting, and 
becoming very red in the face — “ no, not with the 
drawing, it is beautiful — most beautiful, but 1 — in 
— fact I was thinking, sir, that thought sometimes 
leads us into regions of gloom in which — where— 


106 


1I1E FLOATING LIGHT 


one can’t see one’s way, and ignes fatui mislead oi 
— or—” 

“ Very true, Queeker,” interrupted the old gentle- 
man, good-humouredly ; “ thought is a wonderful 
quality of the mind — transports us in a moment 
from the Indies to the poles; fastens with equal 
facility on the substantial and the impalpable; 
gropes among the vague generalities of the abstract, 
and wriggles with ease through the thick obscurities 
of the concrete — eh, Queeker? Come, give us a 
song, like a good fellow.” 

“ I never sing — I cannot sing, sir,” said the youth, 
hurriedly. 

“ No ! why, I thought Katie said you were attend- 
ing the singing- class.” 

The fat cousin was observed here to put her hand- 
kerchief to her mouth and bend convulsively over a 
drawing. 

Queeker explained that he had just begun to 
attend, but had not yet attained sufficient confidence 
to sing in public. Then, starting up he suddenly 
pulled out his watch, exclaimed that he was quite 
ashamed of having remained so late, shook hands 
nervously all round, and, rushing from the house, 
left Stanley Hall in possession of the field ! 

Now, the poor youth’s state of mind is not easily 
accounted for. Stanley, being a close observer, had 
at an early part of the evening detected the causo 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


107 


of Queeker’s jealousy, and, being a kindly fellow, 
sought, by devoting himself to Fanny Hennings, 
to relieve his young friend; but, strange to say, 
Queeker was not relieved ! This fact was a matter 
of profound astonishment even to Queeker himself, 
who went home that night in a state of mind which 
cannot be adequately described, sat down before his 
desk, and, with his head buried in his hands, thought 
intensely. 

“ Can it be,” he murmured in a sepulchral voice, 
looking up with an expression of horror, “ that I 
love them both ? Impossible. Horrible ! Perish 
the thought — yes (seizing a pen) 

Perish the thought 
Which never ought 
To be. 

Let not the thing 

(thing— wing — bing — ping — jing — ring — ling— ting 
— cling — dear me, what a quantity of words with 
little or no meaning there are in the English 
language ! — what will rhyme with — ah ! I have it — 
sting—) 

Let not the thing 
Reveal its sting 
Tome!” 

Having penned these lines, Queeker heaved a 
deep sigh — cast one long lingering gaze on the moon, 

and went to bed. 


108 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE SLOOP NORA— MR. JONES BECOMES COMMUNICATIVE, AND BILLY 
TOWLER, FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS LIFE, THOUGHTFUL. 

A dead calm, with a soft, golden, half-transparent 
mist, had settled down on Old Father Thames, 
when, early one morning, the sloop Nora floated 
rather than sailed towards the month of that cele- 
brated river, bent, in the absence of wind, on creep- 
ing out to sea with the tide. 

Jim Welton stood at the helm, which, in the 
circumstances, required only attention from one of 
his legs, so that his hands rested idly in his coat 
pockets. Morley Jones stood beside him. 

“ So you managed the insurance, did you ?” said 
Jim in a careless way, as though he put the question 
more for the sake of saying something than for any 
interest he had in the matter. 

Mr. Jones, whose eyes and manner betrayed the 
fact that even at that early hour he had made 
application to the demon- spirit which led him cap- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


109 


live at its will, looked suspiciously at liis questioner, 
and replied, — 

“ Well, yes, I ’ve managed it.” 

“ For how much ?” inquired Jim. 

“ For £300.” 

Jim looked surprised. “D'ye think the herring 
are worth that ?” he asked. 

“ No, they ain’t, but there ’s some general cargo 
besides as ’ll make it up to that, includin’ the value 
o’ the sloop, which I ’ve put down at £100. More- 
over, Jim, I have named you as the skipper. They 
required his name, d’ ye see, and as I ’m not exactly 
a seafarin’ man myself, an’ wanted to appear only 
as the owner, I named you.” 

“ But that was wrong,” said Jim, “for I’m not the 
master.” 

“ Yes, you are,” replied Morley, with a laugh. “ I 
make you master now. So, pray, Captain Welton, 
attend to your duty, and be civil to your employer. 
There ’s a breeze coming that will send you foul o’ 
the Maplin light if you don’t look out.” 

“What’s the name o’ the passenger that came 
aboard at Gravesend, and what makes him take a 
fancy to such a craft as this ?” inquired Jim. 

“ I can answer these questions for myself,” said 
the passenger referred to, who happened at that 
moment to come on deck. “ My name is Stanley 
Hall, and I have taken a fancy to the Nora chiefly 


110 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


because she somewhat resembles in size and rig a 
yacht which belonged to my father, and in which I 
have had many a pleasant cruise. I am fond of the 
sea, and prefer going to Ramsgate in this way rather 
than by rail. I suppose you will approve my pre- 
ference of the sea?” he added, with a smile. 

“ I do, indeed,” responded Jim. “ The sea is my 
native element. I could swim in it as soon a’most 
as I could walk, and I believe that — one way, or 
other, in or on it — I have had more to do with it 
than with the land.” 

“ You are a good swimmer, then, I doubt not ?” 
said Stanley. 

“ Pretty fair,” replied Jim, modestly. 

“ Pretty fair !” echoed Morley Jones, “why, he’s 
the best swimmer, I’ll be bound, in Norfolk — ay, if 
he were brought to the test I do b’lieve he ’d turn 
out to be the best in the kingdom.” 

On the strength of this subject the two young 
men struck up an acquaintance, which, before they 
had been long together ripened into what might 
almost be styled a friendship. They had many 
sympathies in common. Both were athletic ; both 
were mentally as w^ell as physically active, and, 
although Stanley Hall had the inestimable advan- 
tage of a liberal education, Jim Wei ton possessed 
a naturally powerful intellect, with a capacity for 
turning every scrap of knowledge to good use. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


Ill 


Their conversation was at that time, however, cut 
short by the springing up of a breeze, which rendered 
it necessary that the closest attention should be paid 
to the management of the vessel among the numerous 
shoals which rendered the navigation there somewhat 
difficult. 

It may be that many thousands of those who 
annually leave London on voyages, short and long — 
of profit and pleasure-^-have very little idea of the 
intricacy . of the channels through which they pass, 
and the number of obstructions which, in the shape 
of sandbanks, intersect the mouth of the Thames at 
its junction with the ocean. Without pilots, and an 
elaborate well-considered system of lights, buoys, and 
beacons, a vessel would be about as likely to reach 
London from the ocean, or vice versa , in safety, as a 
man who should attempt to run through an old 
timber-yard blindfold would be to escape with un- 
broken neck and shins. Of shoals there are the East 
and West Barrows, the Nob, the Knock, the John, 
the Sunk, the Girdler, and the Long sands, all lying 
like so many ground-sharks, quiet, unobtrusive, but 
very deadly, waiting for ships to devour, and getting 
them too, very frequently, despite the precautions 
taken to rob them of their costly food. 

These sand-sharks (if we may be allowed the 
expression) separate the main channels, which are 
named respectively the Swin or King’s channel, on 


i 1 2 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


the north, and the Prince’s, the Queen’s, and the 
South channels, on the south. The channel through 
which the Nora passed was the Swin, which, though 
not used by first-class ships, is perhaps the most 
frequented by the greater portion of the coasting 
and colliery vessels, and all the east country craft. 
The traffic is so great as to be almost continuous ; 
innumerable vessels being seen in fine weather pass- 
ing to and fro as far as the eye can reach. To mark 
this channel alone there was, at the time we write 
of, the Mouse light -vessel, at the western extremity 
of the Mouse sand ; the Maplin lighthouse, on the 
sand of the same name; the Swin middle light- 
vessel, at the western extremity of the Middle and 
Heaps sand ; the Whittaker beacon, and the Sunk 
light- vessel on the Sunk sand — besides other beacons 
and numerous buoys. When we add that floating 
lights and beacons cost thousands and hundreds of 
pounds to build, and that even -buoys are valued in 
many cases at more than a hundred pounds ^ach, 
besides the cost of maintenance, it may be conceived 
that the great work of lighting and buoying the 
channels of the kingdom — apart from the light -house 
system altogether— is one of considerable expense, 
constant anxiety, and vast national importance. It 
may also be conceived that the Elder Brethren of 
the Corporation of Trinity House — by whom, from 
the time of Henry vm. down to the- present day 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


113 


that arduous duty has been admirably performed — 
hold a position of the highest responsibility. 

It is not our intention, however, to trouble the 
reader with further remarks on this subject at this 
point in our tale. In a future chapter we shall add 
a few facts regarding the Trinity Corporation, which 
will doubtless prove interesting • meanwhile we have 
said sufficient to show that there was good reason 
for Jim Welton to hold his tongue and mind his 
helm. 

When the dangerous navigation was past, Mr. 
Jones took Billy Towler apart, and, sitting down 
near the weather gangway, entered into a private and 
confidential talk with that sprightly youngster. 

“ Billy, my boy,” he said, with a leer that was 
meant to be at once amiable and patronizing, “ you 
and I suit each other very well, don’t we ? ” 

Billy, who had been uncommonly well treated by 
his new master, thrust hds hands into the waistband 
of his trousers, and, putting his head meditatively on 
one side, said in a low voice, — 

M H’m — well, yes, you suit me pretty well.” 

The respectable fish-curer chuckled, and patted 
his protege on the back. After which he proceeded 
to discuss, or rather to detail, some matters which, 
had he been less affected by the contents of Square- 
Tom, he might have hesitated to touch upon. 

“Yes,” he said, “you’ll do very well, Billy 

H 


114 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


You "re a good boy and a sharp one, which, you see, 
is exactly what I need. There are a lot o’ small 
matters that I want you to do for me, and tlia* 
couldn’t be very well done by anybody else ; ’cause, 
d’ye see, there ain’t many lads o’ your age who 
unite so many good qualities.” 

“ Very true,” remarked Billy, gravely nodding his 
head — which, by the way, was now decorated with 
a small straw hat and blue ribbon, as was his little 
body with a blue Guernsey shirt, and his small legs 
with white duck trousers of approved sailor cut. 

“ Now, among other things,” resumed Morley, “ I 
want you to learn some lessons.” 

Billy shook his head with much decision. 

“ That won’t go down. Mister Jones. 1 don’t mean 
for to larn no more lessons. I’ve ’ad more than 
enough o’ that. Fact is I consider myself edicated 
raither’igher than usual. Can’t I read and write, and 
do a bit o’ cypherin’ ? Moreover, I- knows that the 
world goes round the sun, w’ich is eontrairy to the 
notions o’ the haincients, wot wos rediklous enough 
to suppose that the sun went round the world. And 
don’t I know that the earth is like a orange, flat- 
tened at the poles ? though I don’t b’lieve there is 
no poles, an’ don’t care a button if there was. That ’s 
enough o’ iogrify for my money ; w’en I wants more 
I’ll ax for^tw^ 

“But it ain’t that sort o’ lesson I mean, Billy* 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


115 


said Mr. Jones, who was somewhat amused at the 
indignant tone in which all this was said. “The 
lesson I want you to learn is this : I want you to 
git off by heart what you and I are doin', an' going 
to do, so that if you should ever come to be ques- 
tioned about it at different times by different people, 
you might always give ’em the same intelligent 
answer, — d’ ye understand ? ” 

“ Whew ! ” whistled the hoy, opening his eyes 
and showing his teeth; “beaks an’ maginstrates, 
eh?” 

“ Just so. And remember, my boy, that you and 
I have been doin' one or two things together of late 
that makes it best for both of us to be very affec- 
tionate to, and careful about, each other. D’ ye un- 
derstand that ? ” 

Billy Towler pursed his little red lips as he nodded 
his small head and winked one of his large blue eyes. 
A slight deepening of the red on his cheeks told 
eloquently enough that he did understand that. 

The tempter had gone a long way in his course by 
that time. So many of the folds of the thin net had 
been thrown over the little thoughtless victim, that, 
light-hearted and defiant though he was by nature, 
he had begun to experience a sense of restraint 
which was quite new to him. 

“Now, Billy,” continued Jones, “let me tell you 
that our prospects are pretty bright just now. I 


116 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


have effected an insurance on my sloop and caTgo 
for £300, which means that I ’ve been to a certain 
great city that you and I know of, and paid into a 
company — we shall call it the Submarine Insurance 
Company — a small sum for a bit of paper, which 
they call a policy, by which they bind themselves 
to pay me £300 if I should lose my ship and cargo. 
You see, my lad, the risks of the sea are very great, 
and there’s no knowing what may happen between 
this and the coast of France, to which we are bound 
after touching at Ramsgate. D’ ye understand ?** 

Billy shook his head, and with an air of per 
plexity said that he “ wasn’t quite up to that dodge 
— didn’t exactly see through it.” 

“ Supposin’,” said he, “ you does lose the sloop 
an’ cargo, why, wot then? — the sloop an’ cargo cost 
somethin’, I dessay ?” 

“ Ah, Billy, you ’re a smart boy — a knowing young 
rascal,” replied Mr. Jones, nodding approval; “of 
course they cost something, but therein lies the 
advantage. The whole affair, sloop an’ cargo, ain’t 
worth more than a few pounds ; so, if I throw it all 
away, it will be only losing a few pounds for the 
sake* of gaining three hundred. Wliat think you 
of that, lad?” 

“ I think the Submarine Insurance Company 
must be oncommon green to be took in so easy,” 
replied the youngster with a knowing smile. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


117 


“ They ain’t exactly green either, hoy, but they 
know that if they made much fuss and bother about- 
insuring they would soon lose their customers, so 
they often run the risk of a knowin’ fellow like me, 
and take the loss rather than scare people away. 
You know, if a grocer was in the habit of carefully 
weighing and testing with acid every sovereign ho 
got before he would sell a trifle over the counter, 
— if he called every note in question, and sent up 
to the bank to see whether it wasn’t a forgery, why, 
his honest customers wouldn’t be able to stand it. 
They ’d give him up. So he just gives the sovereign 
a ring and the note a glance an’ takes his chance. 
So it is in some respects with insurance companies. 
They look at the man and the papers, see that all ’s 
right, as well as they can, and hope for the best. 
That ’s how it is.” 

“ Ha ! they must be jolly companies to have to 
do with. 1 ’d like to transact some business with 
them submarines,” said the boy, gravely. 

“ And so you shall, my lad, so you shall,” cried 
Mr. Jones with a laugh ; " all in good time. Well, 
as I was saying, the cargo ain’t worth much ; it 
don’t extend down to the keel, Billy, by no means ; 
and as for the sloop — she ’s not worth a rope’s-end. 
She’s as rotten as an old coffin. It’s all I’ve been 
able to do to make her old timbers hold together 
for this voyage.” 


118 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Billy Towler opened his .eyes very wide at this, 
and felt slightly uncomfortable. 

“ If she goes down in mid-channel,” said he, “ it 
strikes me that the submarines will get the best of 
it, ’cause it don’t seem to me that you ’re able to 
swim eight or ten miles at a stretch.” 

“ We have a boat, Billy, we have a boat, my 
smart boy.” 

Mr. Jones accompanied this remark with a -wink 
and a slight poke with his thumb in the smart boy’s 
side, which, however, did not seem to have the effect 
of reassuring Billy, for he continued to raise various 
objections, such as the improbability of the sloop 
giving them time to get into a boat when she took 
it into her head to go down, and the likelihood of 
their reaching the land in the event of such a dis- 
aster occurring during a gale or even a stiff breeze. 
To all of which Mr. Jones replied that he might 
make his mind easy, because he (Jones) knew well 
what he was about, and would manage the thing 
cleverly. 

“Now, Billy, here’s thedesson that you’ve got to 
learn. Besides remembering everything that I have 
told you, and only answering questions in the way 
that I have partly explained, and will explain more 
fully at another time, you will take particular note 
that we left the Thames to-day all right with a Tull 
cargo — Jim Welton bein’ master, and one passenger 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


119 


bein’ aboard, whom we agreed to put ashore at 
Ramsgate. That you heal'd me say the vessel and 
cargo were insured for £300, but were worth more, 
and that I said I hoped to make a quick voyage 
over and back. Besides all this, Billy, boy, you 11 
keep a sharp look-out, and won’t be surprised if I 
should teach you to steer, and get the others on 
board to go . below. If you should observe me do 
anything while you are steering, or should hear any 
noises, you’ll be so busy with the tiller and the 
compass that you ’ll forget all about that , and never 
be able to answer any questions about such things 
at all. Have I made all that quite plain to you ?” 

“ Yes, captain ; hall right.” 

Billy had taken to styling his new employer -cap- 
tain, and Mr. Jones did not object. 

“ Well, go for’ard and take a nap. I shall want 
you to-night perhaps ; it may be not till to-morrow 
night” 

The small boy went forward, as he was bid, and, 
leaning over the bulwark of the Nora, watched for a 
long time the rippling foam that curled from her 
bows and slid quietly along her black hull, but 
Billy’s thoughts were not, like his eyes, fixed upon 
the foam. For the first time in his life, perhaps, 
the foundling outcast began to feel that he was 
running in a dangerous road, and entertained some 
misgivings that he was an uncommonly wild, if not 


120 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


wicked, fellow . It is not to be supposed that his 
perceptions on this subject were very clear, or his 
meditations unusually profound, but it is certain 
that, during the short period of his residence in the 
school of which mention has been made, his con- 
science had been awakened and partially enlightened, 
so that his precociously quick intelligence enabled 
him to arrive at a more just apprehension of his 
condition than might have been expected, — consider- 
ing his years and early training. 

We do not say that Billy’s heart smote him. 
That little organ was susceptible only of impressions 
of jollity and mischief. In other respects — never 
having been appealed to by love— it was as hard as 
a small millstone. But the poor boy’s anxieties 
were aroused, and the new sensation appeared to add 
a dozen years to his life. Up to this time he had 
been accustomed to estimate his wickednesses by the 
number of days, weeks, or months of incarceration 
that they involved — “ a wipe,” he would say, “ was 
so many weeks,” a “ silver sneezing-box,” or a “ gold 
ticker,” in certain circumstances, so many more; 
while a “ crack,” i.e., a burglary (to which, by the 
wa} r , he had only aspired as yet) might* cost some- 
thing like a trip over the sea at the Queen’s expense; 
but it had never entered into the head of the small 
transgressor of the law to meditate such an awful 
deed as the sinking of a ship, involving as it did th# 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


121 


possibility of murder and suicide, or hanging if he 
should escape the latter contingency. 

Moreover, he now began to realize more clearly 
the fact that he had cast in his lot with a desperate 
man, who would stick at nothing, and from whose 
clutches he felt assured that it would be no easy 
matter to escape. He resolved, however, to make 
the attempt the first favourable opportunity that 
should offer ; and while the resolve was forming in 
his small brain his little brows frowned sternly at 
the foam on the Nora’s cutwater. When the resolve 
was fairly formed, fixed, and disposed of, Billy’s 
brow cleared, and his heart rose superior to its cares. 
He turned gaily round. Observing that the sea- 
man, who with himself and Jim Welton composed 
the crew of the sloop, was sitting on the heel of the 
bowsprit half asleep, he knocked his cap off, dived 
down the fore-hatch with a merry laugh, flung him- 
self into his berth, and instantly fell asleep, to 
dream of the dearest joys that had as yet crossed 
his earthly path — namely, his wayward wanderings, 
on long summer days, among the sunny fields and 
hedgerows of Hampstead, Kensington, Finchley, and 
other suburbs of London, 


122 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTER IX. 

MR. JONES TAKES STRONG MEASURES TO SECURE HIS ENDS, AND INTRO- 
DUCES BILLY AND HIS FRIENDS TO SOME NEW SCENES AND INCIDENTS. 

Again we are in the neighbourhood of the Good- 
win sands. It is evening. The sun has just gone 
down. The air and sea are perfectly still. The 
stars are coming out one by one, and the floating 
lights have already hoisted their never-failing signals. 

The Nora lies becalmed not far from the Goodwin 
buoy, with her sails hanging idly on the yards. 
Bill Towler stands at the helm with all the aspect 
and importance of a steersman, but without any 
other duty to perform than the tiller could have 
performed for itself. Morley Jones stands beside 
him with his hands in his coat pockets, and Stanley 
Hall sits on the cabin skylight gazing with interest 
at the innumerable lights of the shipping in the 
roadstead, and the more distant houses on shore. 
Jim Welton, having been told that he will have to 
keep watch all night, is down below taking a nap, 
and Grundy, having been ordered below to attend to 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


123 


some trifling duty in the fore part of the vessel, is 
also indulging in- slumber. 

Long and earnestly and anxiously had Morley 
Jones watched for an opportunity to carry his plans 
into execution, but as yet without success. Either 
circumstances were against him, or his heart had 
failed him at the push, lie walked up and down 
the deck with uncertain steps, sat down and rose up 
frequently, and growled a good deal — all of which 
symptoms were put down by Stanley to the fact 
that there was no wind. 

At last Morley stopped in front of his passenger 
and said to him, — 

“ I really think you ’d better go below and have a 
nap, Mr. Hall. It’s quite clear that we are not 
goin’ to have a breeze till night, and it may be early 
morning when we call you to go ashore ; so, if you 
want to be fit for much work to-morrow, you’d 
better sleep while you may.” 

“ Thank you, I don’t require much- sleep,” replied 
Stanley; “in fact, I can easily. do without rest at 
any Lime for a single night, and be quite able for 
work next day. Besides, I have no particular work 
to do to-morrow, and I delight to sit at this time of 
the night and watch the shipping. 1 ’m not in your 
way, am I ?” 

“Oh, not at all, not at all,” replied the fish- 
merchant, as he resumed his irregular walk. 


124 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


This question was prompted by the urgency with 
which the advice to go below had been given. 

Seeing that nothing was to be made of his pas- 
senger in this way, Morley Jones cast about in his 
mind to hit upon another expedient to get rid of 
him, and reproached himself for having been tempted 
by a good fare to let him have a passage. 

Suddenly his eye was attracted by a dark object 
floating in the sea a considerable distance to the 
southward of them. 

“ That ’s lucky,” muttered J ones, after examining 
it carefully with the glass, while a gleam of satisfac- 
tion shot across his dark countenance ; “ could not 
have come in better time. Nothing could be 
better.” 

Shutting up the glass with decision, he turned 
round, and the look of satisfaction gave place to one 
of impatience as his eye fell on Stanley Hall, who 
still sat with folded arms on the skylight, looking 
as composed and serene as if he had taken up his 
quarters there for the night. After one or two 
hasty turns on the deck, an idea appeared to hit Mr. 
Jones, for he smiled in a grim fashion, and muttered, 
“ 1 11 try that, if the breeze would only come.” 

The breeze appeared to have been waiting for an 
invitation, for one or two “ cat’s-paws” ruffled the 
surface of the sea as he spoke. 

“ Mind your helm, boy,” said Mr. Jones suddenly; 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


125 


“ let her away a point ; so* steady. Keep her a« she 
goes ; and, harkee ” (he stooped down and whispered), 
“ when I open the skylight do you call down, ‘ breeze 
freshenin’, sir, and has shifted a point to the 
west’ard.’ ” 

“By the way, Mr. Hall,” said Jones, turning 
abruptly to his passenger, “ you take so much interest 
in navigation that I should like to show you a new 
chart I ’ve got of the channels .on this part of the 
coast. Will you step below ?” 

“ With pleasure,” replied Stanley, rising and fol- 
lowing Jones, who immediately spread out on the 
cabin table one of his most intricate charts, — which, 
as he had expected, the young student began to 
examine with much interest, — at the same time 
plying the other with numerous questions. 

“ Stay,” said Jones, “ I ’ll open the skylight — don’t 
you find the cabin close ?” 

No sooner was the skylight opened than the small 
voice of Billy Towler was heard shouting,- — 

“ Breeze freshenin’, sir, and has shifted a pint to 
the west’ard.” 

“ All right,” replied Jones ; — “ excuse me, sir, I ’ll 
take a look at the sheets and braces and see that all ’s 
fast — be back in a few minutes.” 

He went on deck, leaving Stanley busy with the 
chart. 

“ You ’re a smart boy, Billy. Now do as I tell 


126 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


’ee, and keep yonr weather eye open. D’ ye see that 
bit o’ floating wreck a- head ? Well, keep straight 
for that and -run right against it. I ’ll trust to ’ee, 
boy, that ye don’t miss it.” 

Billy said that he would he careful, but resolved 
in his heart that h q - would miss it ! 

Jones then went aft to a locker near the stem, 
whence he returned with a mallet and chisel, and 
went below. Immediately thereafter Billy heard 
the regular though slight blows of the mallet, and 
pursed his red lips and screwed up his small visage 
into a complicated sign of intelligence. 

There was very little wind, and the sloop made 
slow progress towards the piece of wreck although 
it was very near, and Billy steered as far from it as 
he could without absolutely altering the course. 

Presently Jones returned on deck and replaced the 
mallet and chisel in the locker. He was very warm 
and wiped the perspiration frequently from his fore- 
head. Observing that the sloop was not so near the 
wreck as he had expected, he suddenly seized the 
small -steersman by the neck and shook him as a 
terrier dog shakes a rat. 

“ Billy,” said he, quickly, in a low but stern voice, 
"it’s of no use. I see what you are up to. Your 
steerin’ clear o’ that won’t prevent this sloop from 
bein’ at the bottom in quarter of an hour, if not 
sooner ! If you hit it you may save yourself and 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


127 


me a world of trouble. It’s so much for your own 
interest, boy, to hit that bit of wreck, that I ’ll trust 
you again ” 

So saying, Jones went down into the cabin, apolo- 
gized for having kept Stanley waiting so long, said 
that he could not .leave the boy at the helm alone 
for more than a few minutes at a time, and that he 
would have to return on deck immediately after he 
had made an entry on the log slate. 

Had any one watched Morley Jones while he was 
making that entry on the log slate, he would have 
perceived that the strong man’s hand trembled ex- 
cessively, that perspiration stood in beads upon his 
brow, and that the- entry itself consisted of a number 
of unmeaning and wavering strokes. 

Meanwhile Billy Towler, left in sole possession of 
the sloop, felt himself in a most unenviable state of 
mind. He knew that the crisis had arrived, and the 
decisive tone of his tyrant’s last remark convinced 
him that it would be expedient for himself to obey 
orders. On the other hand, he remembered that he 
had deliberately resolved to throw off his allegiance, 
and as tie drew near the piece of. wreck, he reflected 
that he was at that moment assisting in an act which 
miidit cost the lives of all on board. 

Driven to and fro between doubts and fears, the 
poor boy kept changing the course of the sloop in a 
way that would have soon rendered the hitting of 


1 28 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


the wreck an impossibility, when a sudden and 
rather sharp puff of wind caused the Nora to bend 
over, and the foam to curl on her bow as she slipped 
swiftly through the water. Billy decided at that 
moment to miss the wreck when he was close upon 
it, and for that purpose deliberately and smartly put 
the helm hard a-starboard. 

Poor fellow, his seamanship was nob equal to his 
courage ! So badly did he steer, that the very act 
which was- meant to carry him past the wreck, thrust 
him right upon it ! 

The shock, although a comparatively slight one, 
was sufficiently.severe to arouse the-sleepers, to whom 
the unwonted sensation and sound carried the idea 
of sudden^ disaster. Jim and Grundy rushed on 
deck, where they found Morley Jones already on the 
bulwarks with a boat-hook, shouting for aid, while 
Stanley Hall assisted him with an oar to push the 
sloop off what appeared to be the topmast and cross- 
trees of a vessel, with which she was entangled. 

Jim and Grundy each seized an oar, and, exerting 
their strength, they were soon-clear of the wreck. 

“Well,” observed Jim, wiping his brow with the 
sleeve of his coat, “ it ’s lucky it was but a light top- 
mast and a light breeze, it can’t have done us any 
damage worth speaking of.” 

“ I don’t know that,” said Jones. “ There are 
often iron bolts and sharp, points about such wreck- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


129 


age that don’t require much force to drive ’em through 
a ship’s bottom. Take a look into the hold, Jim, and 
see that all ’s right.” 

Jim descended into the hold, hut immediately re- 
turned, exclaiming, wildly, — 

“ Why, the sloop ’s sinkin’ ! Lend a hand here if 
you don’t want to go down with her,” he cried, leap- 
ing towards the boat. 

Stanley Hall and Grundy at once lent a hand to 
get out the boat, while the fish-merchant, uttering a 
wild oath, jumped into the hold as if to convince him- 
self of the truth of Jim’s statement. He returned 
quickly, exclaiming, — 

“ She must have started a plank. It ’s rushing in 
like a sluice. Look alive, lads ; out with her !” 

The boat was shoved outside the bulwarks, and 
let go by the run ; the oars were flung hastily in, 
and all jumped into her as quickly as possible^ for 
the deck of the Nora was already nearly on a level 
with the water. They were not a minute too soon. 
They had not pulled fifty yards from their late home 
when she gave a sudden lurch to port and went 
down stern foremost,; 

To say that the party looked aghast at this sudden 
catastrophe, would be to give but a feeble idea of 
the state of their minds. For some minutes they 
could do nothing but stare in silence at the few feet 
of the Nora’s topmast which alone remained above 


130 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


water as a sort of tombstone to mark her ocean 
grave. 

When they did at length break silence, it was in 
short interjectional remarks, as they resumed the 
oars. 

Mr. Jones, without making a remark of any kind, 
shipped the rudder ; the other four pulled. 

“Shall we make for land ?” asked Jim Welton, 
after a time. 

“Not wi’ the tide running like this,” answered 
Jones ; “ we ’ll make the Gull, and get ’em to take 
us aboard till morning. At slack tide we can go 
ashore.” 

In perfect silence they rowed towards the floating 
light, which was not more than a mile distant from 
the scene of the disaster. As the ebb tide was 
running strong, Jim hailed before they were close 
alongside — “ Gull, ahoy ! heave us a rope, will 
you ?” 

There was instant bustle on board the floating 
light, and as the boat came sweeping past a growl 
of surprise was heard to issue from the mate’s 
throat as he shouted, “ Look out !” 

A rope came whirling down on their heads, which 
was caught and held on to by Jim. 

“ All right, father,” he said, looking up. 

“ All wrong, I think,” replied the sire, looking 
down. “ Why, Jim, you always turn up like a bad 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


131 


shilling, and in bad company too. Where ever have 
you come from this time ?” 

“ From the sea, father. Don’t keep jawin’ there, 
but help us aboard, and you’ll hear all about it.” 

By this time Jones had gained the deck, followed 
by Stanley Hall and Billy. These quickly gave a 
brief outline of the disaster, and were hospitably 
received on board, while Jim and Grundy made fast 
the tackles to their boat, and had it hoisted inboard. 

“You won’t require to pull ashore to-morrow,” 
said the elder Mr. Welton, as he shook his son’s 
hand. “ The tender will come off to us in the 
morning, and no doubt the captain will take you all 
ashore.” 

“ So much the better,” observed Stanley, “ because 
it seems to me that our boat is worthy of the rotten 
sloop to which she belonged, and might fail to reach 
the shore after all !” 

“ Her owner is rather fond of ships and boats that 

have got the rot,” said Mr. Welton, senior, looking 

with a somewhat stern expression at Morley Jones, 

who was in the act of stooping to wring the water 

out of the legs of his trousers. 

° <*/£ 

“ If he is,” said J ones, with a* equally stern 

glance at the mate, “ he is the only loser — at all 
events the chief one — by his fondness.” 

“You’re right,” retorted Mr. Welton sharply; 
“the loss of a kit may be replaced, but there are 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


I >2 

nome things which cannot be replaced when lost. 
However, you know your own affairs best. Come 
below, friends, and have something to eat and 
drink” 

After the wrecked party had been hospitably 
entertained in the cabin with biscuit and tea, they 
returned to the deck, and, breaking up into small 
parties, walked about or leaned over the bulwarks in 
earnest conversation. Jack Shales and Jerry Mac- 
Gowl took possession of Jim Welton, and, hurrying 
him forward to the windlass, made him there 
undergo a severe examination and cross-questioning 
as to how the sloop Nora had met with her disaster, 'j 
These were soon joined by Billy Towler, to whom 
the gay manner of Shales and the rich brogue of 
MacGowl were irresistibly attractive. 

Jim, however, proved to be much more, reticent 
than his friends deemed either necessary or agree- 
able. After a prolonged process of pumping, to 
which he submitted with much good humour and 
an apparent readiness to be pumped quite dry, Jerry 
MacGowl exclaimed, — 

“ Och, it ain’t of no use trying to git no dnjper. 
Sure we ’ve sounded ’ini to the bottom, an’ found 
nothin' at all but mud.” 

“ Ay, he ’s about as incomprehensible as that 
famous poet you’re for ever givin* us screeds oh 
What ’s ’is name-— somebody’s son V ’ 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


133 


“ Tenny’s son, av coorse replied Jerry ; but lie 
ain’t incomprehensible, Jack ; he ’s only too daip for 
a man of or’nary intellick. His thoughts is so 
awful profound sometimes that the longest deep-sea 
lead line as ever was spun can’t reach the bottom of 
’em. It’s only such oncommon philosophers as 
Dick Moy there, or a boardin’- school miss (for ex- 
tremes meet, you know, Jack), that can rightly 
make him out.” 

“ Wot ’s that you ’re sayin’ about Dick Moy ?” 
inquired that worthy, who had just joined the group 
at the windlass. 

“ He said you was a philosopher,” answered Shales. 

“You’re another,” growled Dick, bluntly, to 
MacGowl. 

“ Faix, that ’s true,” replied Jerry ; “ there ’s two 
philosophers aboord of this here light, an’ the lumin- 
ous power of our united intellicks is so strong that 
1 ’ve had it in my mind more than wance to suggest 
that if they wos to hoist you and me to the mast- 
head together, the Gull would git on first-rate with- 
out any lantern at all.” 

“ Not a bad notion that,” said Jack Shales. “ I ’ll 
mention it to the superintendent to-morrow, when 
the tender comes alongside. P’raps he ’ll report you 
to the Trinity House as being willin’ to serve in that 
way without pay, for the sake of econom}'.” 

“No, not for economy, mate,” objected Dick Moy. 


134 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ We can't afford to do dooty as lights without in- 
creased pay. Just think of the intellektooal force re- 
quired for to keep the lights agoin’ night after night.” 

“ Ay, and the amount of the doctor’s bill,” broke 
in MacGowl, “ for curin’ the extra cowlds caught at 
the mast-head in thick weather.” 

“ But we wouldn’t go up in thick weather, stoopid,” 
said Moy, — “ w,ot ud be the use ? Ain’t the gong 
enough at smOimes?’’* 

“ Och, to be sure. Didn’t I misremember that ? 
What a thing it is to be ready-witted, now ! And 
since we are makin’ sich radical changes in the float- 
ing-light system, what would ye say, boys, to advise 
the Boord to use the head of Jack Shales.instead of 
a. gong? It would sound splendiferous, for there 
ain’t no more in it than an empty-cask. The last 
gong they sint us down was cracked, you know, so 
I fancy that ’s considered the right sort ; and if so, 
Jack’s head is cracked enough in all conscience.” 

“ I suppose, Jerry,” said Shales, “ if my head was 
appointed gong, you ’d like that your fist should git 
the situation of drumstick.” 

“Stop your chaffin’, boys, and let’s catch some 
birds for to-morrow’s dinner,” said one of the 
men who had been listening to the conversation.” 
“ There ’s an uncommon lot of ’em about to-night* 
an’ it seems to me if the fog increases we shall have 
more of ’em.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


135 


“ Ho — o — o — ! 

“ ‘Sich a gittin’ up stairs, and 
A playin’ on the fiddle,’ ” 

sang Jack Shales, as he sprang up the wire-rope 
ladder that led to theJantern, round which innum- 
erable small birds were flitting, as if desirous of 
launching themselves bodily into the bright light. 

‘‘What is that fellow about?” inquired Stanley 
Hall of the mate, as the two stood conversing near 
the binnacle. 

“He’s catching small birds, sir. We often get 
a jiumber in that way here. But they ain’t so 
numerous about the Gull as I ’ve seen them in some 
of the other lightships. You may find it difficult to 
believe, but I do assure you, sir, that I have caught 
as many as five hundred birds with my own hand in 
the course of two hours.” 

“ Indeed ! what sort of birds ?” 

“ Larks and starlings chiefly, but there were other 
kinds amongst ’em. Why, sir, they flew about my 
head and round the lantern like clouds of snow- 
flakes. I was sittin’ on the lantern just as Shales 
is sittin’ now, and the birds came so thick that I had 
to pull my sou’-wester down over my eyes, and hold 
up my hands sometimes before my face to protect 
myself, for they hit me all over. I snapped at ’em, 
and caught ’em as fast as I could use my hands — 
gave their, heads a screw, and crammed ’em into my 


136 THE FLOATING LIGHT 

pockets. In a short time the pockets were all as 
full as they could hold— coat, vest, and trousers. I 
had to do it so fast that many of ’em wasn’t properly 
killed, and some came alive agin, hopped out of my 
pockets, and, flew away.” 

At that moment there arose a laugh from the men 
as they watched their comrade, who happened to he 
performing a feat somewhat similar to that just de- 
scribed by the, mate. 

Jack Shales had seated himself on the roof of the 
lantern. This roof being opaque, he and the mast, 
which rose above him, and its distinctive ball on the 
top, were enveloped in darkness. Jack appeared 
like a man of ebony pictured against the dark sky. 
His form and motions could therefore be distinctly 
seen, although his features were invisible. He 
appeared to be engaged in resisting an attack from 
a host of little birds which seemed to have made up 
their minds to unite their powers for his destruction ; 
the fact being that the poor things, fascinated by the 
brilliant light, flew over, under, and round it, with eyes 
so dazzled that they did not ■ observe the man until 
almost too late to sheer off and avoid him. In- 
deed, many of them failed in this attempt, and flew 
right against his head, or into his bosom. These he 
caught, killed, and pocketed, as fast as possible, until 
his pockets were full, when he descended to empty 
them. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


137 


* Hallo ! Jack, mind your eye,” cried Dick Moy, as 
his friend set foot on the deck, “ there ’s one of ’em a- 
goin’ off with that crooked sixpence you’re so fond of.” 

Jack caught a starling which was in the act of 
wriggling out of his coat pocket, and gave it a final 
twist. 

“ Hold your hats, boys,” he cried, hauling forth 
the game. “ Talk of a Scotch moor — there ’s nothin’ 
equal to the top of the Gull lantern for real sp0rt !” 

“ I say. Jack,” cried Mr. Welton, who, with 
Stanley and the others, had crowded round the suc- 
cessful sportsman, “there are some strange birds on 
the ball. Gulls or crows, or owls. ( If you look 
sharp and get inside, you may perhaps catch them 
by the legs .” ) 

Billy Towler heard this remark, and, looking up, 
saw the two birds referred to, one seated on the ball 
at the mast-head, the other at that moment sailing 
round it. Now it must be told, and the reader will 
easily believe it, that during all this scene Billy had 
looked on not only with intense interest, but with 
a wildness of excitement peculiar to himself, while 
his eyes flashed, and his small hands tingled with a 
desire to have, not merely a finger, but, all his ten 
fingers, in the pie. Being only a visitor, however, 
and ignorant of everybody and everything connected 
with a floating light, he had modestly held his tongue 
and kept in the background. But he could no 


138 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


longer withstand the temptation to act. Without 
uttering a word, he leaped upon the rope-ladder of 
the lantern, and was half way up it before any one 
observed him, determined to forestall Jack Shales. 
Then there was a shouting of “ Hallo ! what is that 
scamp up to ?” “ Come down, you monkey !” “ He’ll 
break his neck!” “ Serve him right ! ” “Hi! come 
down, will ’ee ?” and similar urgent as well as compli- 
mentary expressions, to all of which Billy turned a 
deaf ear. Another minute and he stood on the roof of 
the lantern, looking up at the ball and grasping the 
mast, which rose — a bare pole—twelve or fifteen feet 
above him. 

“ Och ! av the spalpeen tries^ that,” exclaimed 
Jerry MacGowl, “it ’ll be the ind of ’im intirely.” 

Billy Towler did try it. Many a London lamp- 
post had he shinned up in his day. The difference 
did not seem to him very . great. The ball, he ob- 
served, was made of light bands or lathes arranged 
somewhat in the form of lattice-work. It was full 
six feet in diameter, and had an opening in the 
under part by which a man could enter it. Through 
the lozenge-shaped openings he could see two enor- 
mous ravens perched on the top. Pausing- merely 
for a second or two to note these facts and recover 
breath, he shinned up the bare pole like a monkey, 
and got inside the ball. 

The spectators on deck stood in breathless sus- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


139 


pense and anxiety, unable apparently to move ; but 
when they saw Billy clamber up the side of the ball 
like a mouse in a wire cage, put forth his hand, seize 
one of the ravens by a leg and drag it through the 
bars to him, a ringing cheer broke forth, which was 
mingled with shouts of uncontrollable, laughter. 

The operation of drawing the ill-omened bird 
through the somewhat narrow opening against the 
feathers, had the double effect of -ruffling it out to 
a round and ragged shape, very much beyond its 
ordinary size, and of rousing its-spirit to ten times 
its wonted- ferocity, insomuch that, when once fairly 
inside, it attacked its captor with claw, beak, and 
wing furiously./ It had to do -battle, however, with 
an infant ^Hercules. Billy held on tight to its leg, 
and managed to restrain its head and wings with 
one arm, while with the other he embraced the mast 
and slid down to the lantern ; but not before the 
raven freed its head and one of its wings, and re- 
newed its violent resistance. 

On the lantern he paused for a moment to make 
the captive more secure, and then let his legs drop 
over the edge of the lantern, intending to get on the 
rounds of the ladder, but his foot missed the first 
one. In his effort to regain it he slipped. At 
that instant the bird freed his head, and with a 
triumphant “caw!” gave Billy an awful peck on 
the nose. The result was that the poor boy fell 


140 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


back. He could not restrain a shriek as he did so, 
but he still kept hold of the raven, and made a wild 
grasp with his disengaged hand. Fortunately he 
caught the ladder, and remained swinging and 
making vain efforts to hook his leg round one of the 
ropes. 

“ Let go the bird !” shouted the mate, rushing 
underneath the struggling youth, resolved at all 
hazards to be ready to break his fall if he should 
let go. 

“Howld on!” yelled Jerry MacGowl, springing 
up the ladder — as Jack Shales afterwards said — like 
a Chimpanzee maniac, and clutching Billy by the 
neck. 

“ Ye may let go now, ye spalpeen,” said Jerry, as 
he held the upper half of Billy’s shirt, vest, and jacket 
in his powerful and capacious grasp, “ I ’ll howld ye 
safe enough.” 

At that moment the raven managed to free its 
dishevelled wings, the fierce flapping of which it 
added to its clamorous cries and struggles of indig- 
nation. Feeling himself safe, Billy let go his hold, 
and used the freed hand to seize the raven’s other 
leg. Then the Irishman descended, and thus, amid 
the riotous wriggles and screams of the dishevelled 
bird, and the cheers, laughter, and congratulations of 
his friends, our little hero reached the deck in safety. 

But this was not the end of their bird-catching 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


141 


on that memorable occasion. It was, indeed, the 
grand incident of the night — the culminating point, 
as it were, of the battle— but there was a good deal 
of light skirmishing afterwards. Billy’s spirit, having 
been fairly roused, was not easily allayed. After 
having had a piece of plaister stuck on the point of 
his nose, ’which soon swelled up to twice its ordinary 
dimensions, and became bulbous in appearance, he 
would fain have returned to the lantern to prosecute 
the war with renewed energy. This, however, 
Mr. Welton senior would by no means permit, so 
the youngster was obliged to content himself with 
skirmishing on deck, in which he was also successful. 

One starling he found asleep in the fold of a 
tarpaulin. Another he discovered in a snug corner 
under the lee of one of the men’s coats, and both 
were captured easily. Then Dick Moy showed him 
a plan whereby he caught half a dozen birds in as 
many minutes. He placed a small hand-lantern 
on the deck, and spread a white handkerchief in 
front of it. The birds immediately swarmed round 
this so vigorously, that they even overturned the 
lantern once or twice. Finally, settling down on the 
handkerchief, they went to sleep. It was evident 
that the poor things had not been flying about for 
mere pleasure. They had been undoubtedly fasci- 
nated by the ship’s glaring light, and had kept flying 
round it until nearly exhausted, insomuch that they 


142 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


fell asleep almost immediately after settling down on 
the handkerchief, and were easily laid hold of. 

During the intervals of this warfare Mr. George 
Welton related to Billy Towler and Stanley Hall 
numerous anecdotes of his experience in bird-catch- 
ing on board the floating lights. Mr. Welton had 
been long in the service, and had passed through all 
the grades; having commenced as a seaman, and 
risen to be a lamplighter and a mate— the position 
he then occupied. His office might, perhaps, be 
more correctly described as second master, because 
the two were never on board at the same time, each 
relieving the other month about, and thus each 
being in a precisely similar position as to command, 
though not so in regard to pay. 

“ There was one occasion,” said the mate, “ when 
I had a tough set-to w r ith a bird, something like 
what you have had to-night, youngster. I was 
stationed at the time in the He warp light- vessel, off 
the Norfolk coast. It happened not long after the 
light had gone up. I observed a very large bird 
settle on the roof of the lantern, so I went cautiously 
up, hopin’ it would turn out a good one to eat, 
because you must know we don’t go .catchin’ these 
birds for mere pastime. We ’re very glad to get 
’em to eat; and I can assure you the larks make 
excellent pies. Well, I raised my head slowly above 
the lantern, and pounced on it. Instantly its claws 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


143 


syent deep into my hands. I seized its neck, and 
■tried to choke it; but the harder I squeezed, the 
harder it nipped, until I was forced to sing out for 
help. Leavin' go the neck, in order to have one 
hand free, I descended the ladder with the bird 
hanging to the other hand by its claws. I found I 
had no occasion to hold tight to it , for it held tight 
to me ! Before I got down, however, it had recovered 
a bit, let go, and flew away, but took refuge soon after 
in the lantern -house on deck. Here L caught it a 
second time, and once more received the same 
punishment from its claws. I killed it at last, 
and then found, to my disgust, that it was a monster 
sparrow-hawk, and not fit for food ! ” 

“ Somethink floatin’ alongside, sir,” said Dick 
Moy, running aft at that moment and catching up a 
boat-hook, with which he made a dart at the object 
in question, and struck, but failed to secure it. 

“ What is it, Moy?” asked Mr. Wei ton. 

“ On’y a bit o’ wreck, I think. It looked like a 
corp at first.” 

Soon after this most of the people on board the 
Gull went below and turned in, leaving the deck 
in charge of the regular watch, which, on that occa- 
sion, consisted of Dick and his friend Jack Shales. 
Jerry MacGowl kept them company for a time, 
being, as he observed, “ sintimentally inclined ” that 
night. 


144 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


Stanley Hall, attracted by the fineness of the 
night, also remained on deck a short time after the 
others were gone. 

“ Do you often see dead bodies floating past ? ” he 
asked of Dick Moy, 

“Not wery often, sir, but occasionally we does. 
You see, we he so nigh the Goodwin sands, where 
wrecks take place in the winter months pritty con- 
stant, that poor fellers are sometimes washed past 
us ; but they ain’t always dead. One night we 
heard loud cries not far off from us, but it was 
blowin’ a gale, and the night was so dark we could 
see nothin’. We could no mote have launched our 
boat than we could ’ave gone over the falls o’ 
Niagary without capsizin’. When next the relief 
corned off, we heard that it was three poor fellers 
gone past on a piece of wreck.” 

“ Were they lost ? ” inquired Stanley. 

“ No, sir, they warn’t all of ’em lost. A brig saw 
’em at daylight, but just as they-wos being picked 
up, one wos so exhausted he slipped off the wreck 
an’ wos drownded. ’Nother time,” continued Moy, 
as he paced slowly to and fro, “ we seed a corp float 
past, and tried to ’ook it with the boat-’ook, but 
missed it. It wos on its face, and we could see it 
’ad on a belt and sheath-knife. There wos a bald 
spot on the ’ead, and the gulls wos peckin’ at it, so 
we know’d it wos dead — wery likely a dong time.” 


OF TliE GOODWIN SANDS. 


145 


"There's a tight little craft/’ remarked Shales, 
pointing to a vessel which floated at no great dis- 
tance off. 

“ W’ich d’ ye mean ? ” asked Dick ; for there were 
so many vessels, some at anchor and some floating 
past with the tide, like phantom ships, that it was 
not easy to make out which vessel was v ref erred to ; 
" the one wi' the shoulder-o’- mutton mains! ?” 

“No; that schooner with the raking masts an’ 
topsail ? ” 

“ Ah, that ’s a purty little thing from owld Ire- 
land,” returned Jerry MacGowl. " I ’d know her 
anywhere by the cut of her jib. Av she would 
only spaik, she ’d let ye hear the-brogue.” 

" Since ye know her so well, Paddy, p’raps you 
can tell us what’s her- cargo?” said Jack Shales. 

“ Of coorse I can-^-it ’s fruit an’ timber,” replied 
Jerry. 

“ Fruit and timber ! ” exclaimed Stanley with a 
laudi ; “ I was not aware that such articles were 
exported from Ireland.” 

"Ah, sure they are, yer honour,” replied Jerry. 

| " No doubt the, English, with that low spirit of 
jealousy that’s pecooliar to ’em, would say it 
was*' brooms an’ Katies, but wf calls it fruit and 
timber ! ” 

" After that, Jerry, I think it is time for me to 
turn in, so I wish you both a good-night, lads.” 

K 


146 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ Good- night, sir, good -night,” replied the men, 
as Stanley descended to his berth, leaving the watch 
to spin yarns and perambulate the deck until the 
bright beams of the floating light should be ren- 
dered unnecessary by the brighter beams of the 
rising sun. 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


147 


CHAPTER X. 


TBEATS OF TENDER SUBJECTS OF A PECULIAR KIND, AND SHOW8 HOW 
BILLY TOWLER GOT INTO SCRAPES AND OUT OF THEM. 

The fact that we know not what a day may bring 
forth, receives frequent, and sometimes very striking, 
illustration in the experience of most people. That 
the day may begin with calm and sunshine, yet end 
in clouds and tempest — or vice versa — is a truism 
which need not be enforced. Nevertheless, it is a 
truism which men are none the worse of being re- 
minded of now and then. Poor Billy Towler was 
very powerfully reminded of it on the day following 
his night-adventure with the ravens ; and his master 
was taught that the best -laid plans of men, as well 
as mice, are apt to get disordered, as the sequel 
will show. 

Next morning the look-out on board the Gull 
lightship reported the Trinity steam-tender in sight, 
off the mouth of Ramsgate harbour, and the ensign 
was at once hoisted as an intimation that she had 
been observed. 


14S 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


This arrangement, by the way, of hoisting a signal 
on board the floating lights when any of the Trinity 
yachts chance to heave in sight, is a clever device, 
whereby the vigilance of light-ship crews is secured, 
because the time of the appearing of these yachts 
is irregular, and, therefore, a matter of uncertainty. 
Every one knows the natural and almost irresistible 
tendency of the human mind to relax in vigilance 
when the demand on attention is continual — that 
the act, by becoming a mere matter of daily routine, 
loses much of its intensity. The crews of floating 
lights are, more than most men, required to be per- 
petually on the alert, because, besides the danger that 
would threaten innumerable ships should their 
vessels drift from their stations, or any part of their 
management be neglected, there is great danger to 
themselves of being run into during dark stormy 
nights or foggy days. Constant vigilance is partly 
secured, no doubt, by a sense of duty in the men; it is 
increased by the feeling of personal risk that would 
result from carelessness ; and it is almost perfected 
by the order for the hoisting of a flag as above re- 
ferred to. 

The superintendent of the district of which Rams- 
gate is head-quarters, goes out regularly once every 
month in the tender to effect what is styled “ the 
relief,” — that is, to change the men, each of whom 
passes two months aboard and one month on shore, 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


149 


while the masters and mates alternately have a 
month on shore and a month on board. At the 
same time he puts on board of the four vessels of 
which he lias charge --namely, the Goodwin , the Gull 
the South- sandhead, and the Varne light-ships, — 
water, coal, provisions, and oil for the month, and such 
stores as may be required ; returning with the men 
relieved and the empty casks and cans, etc., to Rams- 
gate harbour. Besides this, the tender is constantly 
obliged to go out at irregular intervals — it may be 
even several times in a week — for the purpose of 
replacing buoys that have been shifted by storms — 
marking, with small green buoys, the spot where a 
vessel may have gone down, and become a dangerous 
obstruction in the “ fair way ” — taking up old chains 
and sinkers, and placing new ones — painting the 
buoys — and visiting the North and South Fore- 
land lighthouses, which are also under the district 
superintendent’s care. 

On all of these occasions the men on duty in the 
floating lights are bound to hoist their flag whenever 
the tender chances to pass them within sight, on 
pain of a severe reprimand if the duty be neglected, 
and something worse if such neglect be of frequent 
occurrence. In addition to this, some of the 
Elder Brethren of the Trinity House make periodi- 
cal visits of inspection to all the floating lights 
round the coasts of England ; and this they do 


150 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


purposely at irregular times, in order, if possible, 
to catch the guardians of the coast napping ; and 
woe betide “ the watch ” on duty if these inspecting 
Brethren should manage to get pretty close to any 
light-ship without having received the salute of re- 
cognition ! Hence the men of the floating lights 
are kept ever on the alert, and the safety of the 
navigation, as far as human wisdom can do it, is 
secured. Hence also, at whatever time any of 
our floating lights should chance to be visited by 
strangers, they, like our lighthouses, will invariably 
be found in perfect working order, and as clean as 
new pins, except, of course, during periods of general 
cleaning up or painting. 

Begging pardon for this digression, we return to 
Billy Towler, whose delight with the novelty of his 
recent experiences was only equalled by his joyous 
anticipations of the stirring sea-life that yet lay 
before him. 

The satisfaction of Mr. Jones, however, at the 
success of his late venture, was somewhat damped 
by the information that he would have to spend the 
whole day on board the tender. The district super- 
intendent, whose arduous and multifarious duties 
required him to be so often afloat that he seemed to 
be more at home in the tender than in his own house 
ashore, was a man whose., agreeable manners, and 
kind, hearty, yet firm disposition, had made him a 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


151 


favourite with every one in the service. Immedi- 
ately on his boarding the Gull, he informed the un- 
invited and unfortunate guests of that floating light 
that he would be very glad to take them ashore, but 
that he could not do so until evening, as, besides 
effecting “ the relief,” he meant to take advantage of 
the calm weather to give a fresh coat of paint to one 
or two buoys, and renew their chains and sinkers, and 
expressed a hope that the delay would not put them 
to much inconvenience. 

Stanley Hall, between whom and the superinten- 
dent there sprang up an intimate and sympathetic 
friendship almost at first sight, assured him that so 
far from putting him to inconvenience it would 
afford him the greatest pleasure to spend the day 
on board. Billy Towler heard this arrangement 
come to with an amount of satisfaction which was 
by no means shared by his employer, who was 
anxious to report the loss of the Nora without delay, 
and to claim the insurance money as soon as pos- 
sible. He judged it expedient, however, to keep 
his thoughts and anxieties to himself, and only 
vented his feelings in a few deep growls, which, 
breaking on the ears of Billy Towler, filled the heart 
of that youthful sinner witli additional joy. 

“ Wot a savage he is ! ” said Dick Moy, looking at 
Jones, and addressing himself to Billy. 

* Ah, ain’t he just!” replied the urchin. 


152 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ Has he not bin good to ’ee ? ” asked the big sea- 
man, looking down with a kindly expression at the 
small boy. 

“ Middlin’,” was Billy’s cautious reply. “ I say, 
Neptune,” he, added, looking up into Dick’s face, 
“ wot ’s yer name ?” 

“ It ain’t Neptune, anyhow,” replied Dick. “ That ’s 
wot we ’ve called the big black Noofoundland dog 
you sees over there a-jumping about Jim Welton as 
if he had failed in love with him.” 

“ Why is it so fond of him ?” asked Billy. 

Dick replied to this question by relating the in- 
cident of the dog’s rescue by Jim. 

“ Werry interestin’. Well, but wot is your name V* 
said Billy, returning to the point. 

“ Dick.” 

“Of course I know that ; I ’ve heerd ’em all call ye 
that often enough, but I ’spose you ’ve got another?” 

“ Moy,” said the big seaman. 

“ Moy, eh ?” cried Billy, with a grin, “that is a funny 
name, but there ain’t enough of it for my taste.” 

The conversation was interrupted at this point by 
the superintendent, who, having been for many 
years in command of an East Indiaman, was styled 
“ Captain.” He ordered the mate and men whose 
turn it was to be w relieved ” to get into the- tender 
along with the strangers. Soon afterwards the 
vessel steamed away over the glassy water, and 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


153 


Billy, who had taken a fancy to the big lamplighter, 
went up to him and said, — 

“Well, Dick Moy, where are we agoin’ to just 
now ? ” 

Dick pointed to a black speck on the water, a 
considerable distance ahead of them. 

“ We re agoin’ to that there buoy, to lift it and 
put down a :tf$o iin.” 

“ Oh, that ’s a boy, is it ? and are them there boys 
too?” asked Billy, looking round at the curious oval 
and conical cask-like things, of gigantic proportions, 
which lumbered the deck and filled the hold of the 
tender. 

“ Ay, they ’re all buoys.” 

“None of ’em girls?” inquired the urchin gravely. 

“No, none of ’em,” replied Dick with equal 
gravity, for to him the joke was a very stale one. 

“ No ? that’s stoopid now ; I ’d ’ave ’ad some of ’em 
girls for variety’s sake — -wot ’s the use of ’em?” asked 
the imp, who pretended ignorance, in order to draw 
out his burly companion. 

“ To mark the channels,” replied Dick. “ We 
puts a red buoy on one side and a checkered buoy 
on t’other, and if the vessels keeps atween ’em they 
goes all right — if not, they goes ashore.” 

“ H’m, that’s just where it is now,” said Billy. 
“ If I had had the markin’ o’ them there channels I ’d 
’ave put boys on one side an’ girls on t’other all the 


154 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


way up to London — made a sort o’ country dance of 
it, an’ all the ships would ’ave gone up the middle 
an’ down agin, d’ ye see ? ” 

“ Port, port a little,” said the captain at that 
moment. 

“ Port it is, sir,” answered Mr. Wei ton, senior, who 
stood at the wheel. 

The tender was now bearing down on one of the 
numerous buoys which mark off the channels around 
the Goodwin sands, and it required careful steer- 
ing in order to avoid missing it on the one hand, or 
running into it on the other. A number of men 
stood on the bow of the vessel, with ropes and 
boat-hooks, in readiness to catch and make fast to 
it. These men, with the exception of two or three 
who formed the permanent crew of the tender, were 
either going off to “relieve ” their comrades and take 
their turn on board the floating lights, or were oil 
their way to land, having been “ relieved ” — such as 
George Welton the mate, Dick Moy, and Jerry 
MacGowL Among them were several masters and 
mates belonging to the light-vessels of that district 
— sedate, grave, cheerful, and trustworthy men, all 
of them — who had spent the greater part of their 
lives in the service, and were by that time middle- 
aged or elderly, but still, with few exceptions, as 
strong and hardy as young men. 

Jerry, being an unusually active and powerful 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


155 


fellow, took a prominent part in all the duties that 
devolved on the men at that time. 

That these duties ^vere not light might have been 
evident to the most superficial observer, for the 
buoys and their respective chains and sinkers were 
of the most ponderous and unwieldy description. 

Eeferring to this, Stanley Hall said, as he stood 
watching the progress of the work, “ Why, captain, 
up to this day I have been in the habit of regarding 
buoys as trifling affairs, not much bigger or more 
valuable than huge barrels or washing- tubs, but 
now that I see them close at hand, and hear all you 
tell me about them, my respect increases wonderfully.” 

“ It will be increased still more, perhaps,” replied 
the captain, “when I tell you the cost of some of them. 
Now, then, MacGowl, look out — are you ready?” 

“ All ready, sir.” 

“ Port a little — steady.” 

“ Steady !” replied Mr. Wei ton. 

“ Arrah ! howld on — och ! stiddy — heave — hooray !” 
cried the anxious Irishman as he made a plunge at 
the buoy which was floating alongside like a huge 
iron balloon, bumping its big forehead gently, yet 
heavily, against the side of the tender, and, in that 
simple way conveying to the mind of Stanley an 
idea of the great difficulty that must attend the 
shifting of buoys in rough weather. 

The buoy having been secured, an iron hook and 


156 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


chain of great strength were then attached to the ring 
in its head. The chain communicated with a power- 
ful crane rigged up on the foremast, and was wrought 
by a steam windlass on deck. 

“ You see we require strong*, tackle,” said the cap- 
tain to Stanley, while the buoy was being slowly 
raised. “ That buoy weighs fully three-quarters of 
a ton, and cost not less, along with its chain and 
sinker, than £150, yet it is not one of our largest. 
We have what we call monster buoys, weighing con- 
siderably more than a ton, which cost about ^£300 
apiece, including a 60 -fathom chain and a 30-cwt. 
sinker. Those medium-sized ones, made of wood 
and hooped like casks, cost from £80 to £100 apiece 
without appendages. Even that small green-fellow 
lying there, with which I intend to mark the Nora, 
if necessary, is worth £25, and as there are many 
hundreds of such buoys all round the kingdom, you 
can easily believe that the guarding of our shores is 
somewhat costly.” 

“ Indeed it must be,” answered Stanley ; w and if 
such insignificant-looking things cost so much, what 
must be the expense of maintaining floating lights 
and lighthouses ?” 

“ 1 can give you some idea of that too,” said the 
captain — ” 

“ Look out !” exclaimed the men at that moment. 

a 

“ Ocli ! be aisy ,” cried Jerry, ducking as he spokq 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


157 


and thus escaping a blow from the buoj', which 
would have cracked his head against the vessel’s 
side like a walnut. 

“ Heave away, lad ! ” 

The man at the windlass obeyed. The irresistible 
steam-winch caused the huge chain to grind and 
jerk in its iron pulley, and the enormous globular 
iron buoy came quietly over the side, black here and 
brown there, and red-rusted elsewhere; its green 
beard of sea-weed dripping with brine, and its sides 
grizzled with a six-months’ growth of barnacles and 
other shell-fish. 

It must not be supposed that, although the engine 
did all the heavy lifting, the men had merely to stand 
by and look on. In the mere processes of capturing 
the buoy and making fast the chains and hooks, 
and fending off, etc., there was an amount of physi- 
cal effort. — straining and energizing — on the part of 
the men, that could scarcely be believed unless seen. 
Do not fancy, good reader, that we are attempting 
to make much of a trifle in this description. Our 
object is rather to show that what might very natur- 
ally be supposed to be trifling and easy work, is, in 
truth, very much the reverse. 

The buoy having been lifted, another of the same 
size and shape, but freshly painted, was attached to 
the chain, tumbled over the side, and left in its place. 
In this ^ase the chain and sinker did not require 


158 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


renewing, but at the next visited it was found that 
buoy, chain, and sinker had to be lifted and renewed. 

And here again, to a landsman like Stanley, there 
was much to interest and surprise. If a man, ignor- 
ant of such matters, were asked what he would do 
in the event of his having to go and shift one of 
those buoys, he might probably reply, “Well, I 
suppose I would first get hold of the buoy and hoist 
it on board, and then throw over another in its 
place but it is not probable that he would reflect 
that this process involved the violent upturning 
of a mass of wood or metal so heavy that all the 
strength of the dozen men who had to struggle with 
it was scarce sufficient to move gently even in the 
water; that, being upturned, an inch chain had 
to be unshackled — a process rendered troublesome, 
owing to the ponderosity of the links which had to 
be dealt with, and the constrained- position of the 
man who wrought, — and that the chain and sinker 
had to be hauled out of the sand or mud into which 
they had sunk so much, that the donkey- engine had 
to strain until the massive chains seemed about to 
give way, and the men stood in peril of having their 
heads suddenly cut open. 

Not to be too prolix on this subject, it may be 
said, shortly, that when the chain and sinker of the 
next buoy were being hauled in, a three-inch rope 
snapped and grazed the finger of a man, fortunatel/ 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


159 


taking no more tlian a little of the skin off, though 
it probably had force enough to have taken his hand 
off if it had struck him differently. Again they 
tried, but the sinker had got so far down into the 
mud that it would not let go. The engine went at 
last very slowly, for it was applying almost the 
greatest strain that the chains could bear, and the 
bow of the tender was hauled considerably down into 
the sea. The men drew back a little, but, after a few 
moments of suspense, the motion of the vessel gradu- 
ally loosened the sinker and eased the strain. 

“ There she goes, handsomely ,” cried the men, as 
the engine again resumed work at reasonable speed. 

“We sometimes lose chains and sinkers alto- 
gether in that way,” remarked Dick Moy to Billy, 
who stood looking on with heightened colour and 
glowing eyes, and wishing with all the fervour of 
his small heart that the whole affair would give way, 
in order that he might enjoy the tremendous crash 
which he thought would be sure to follow. 

“ Would it be a great loss V* he asked. 

“It would, a wery great un, said Dick ; “ that there 
chain an’ sinker is worth nigh fifty or sixty pound.” 

While this work was being done, the captain was 
busy with his telescope, taking the exact bearings 
of the buoy, to ascertain whether or not it had shifted 
its position during the six months’ conflict with tide 
and tempest that it had undergone since last being 


ICO 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


overhauled. Certain buildings on shore coming into 
line with other prominent buildings, such as steeples, 
chimneys, and windmills, were his infallible guides, 
and these declared that the buoy had not shifted 
more than a few feet. He therefore gave the order 
to have 'the fresh buoy, with its chain and sinker, 
ready to let go. 

The buoy in question, — a medium one about 
eight feet high, five feet in diameter, and conical in 
shape — stood at the edge of the vessel, like an ex- 
tinguisher for the biggest candle that ever was con- 
ceived in the wildest brain at Eome. Its sinker, a 
square mass of cast-iron nearly a ton in weight, lay be- 
side it, and its two-inch chain, every link whereof was 
eight or ten inches long, and made of the toughest 
malleable iron, was coiled carefully on the main-hatch, 
so that nothing should impede its running out. 

“ All ready V* cried the captain, taking a final 
glance through the telescope. 

“ All ready, sir,” replied the men, several of whom 
stood beside the buoy, prepared to lay violent hands 
on it, while two stood with iron levers under the 
sinker, ready to heave. 

“ Stand here, Billy, an’ you ’ll see it better ” said 
Dick Moy, with a sly look, for Dick had by this 
time learned to appreciate the mischievous spirit of 
the urchin. 

“ Let go !” cried the captain. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


161 


“Let go !” echoed the men. 

The levers were raised ; the thrust was given. 
Away went the sinker ; overboard went the buoy ; 
out went the chain with a clanging roar and a 
furious rush, and up sprang a column of white spray, 
part of which fell in-board, and drenched Billy 
Towler to the skin ! 

As well might Dick Moy have attempted to 
punish a pig by throwing it into the mud as to dis- 
tress Billy by sousing him with water ! It was to 
him all but a native element. In fact, he said that 
he believed himself to be a hamphiberous hanimal 
by nature, and was of the opinion that he should 
have been born a merman. 

“ Hooray ! shower-baths free, gratis, for nothink !” 
he yelled, as soon as he had re- caught his breath. 
“Any more o’ that sort cornin’ ?” he cried, as he 
pulled off his shirt and wrung it. 

“ Plenty more wery like it,” said Dick, cutickliiig, 
“ and to be had wery much on the same terms.” 

“Ah, if you’d only jine me — it would make it 
so much more pleasant,” retorted the boy ; “ but it 
would take a deal more water to kiver yer huge 
carcase.” 

“ That boy will either make a first-rate man, or 
an out-and-out villain,” observed the captain to 
Stanley, as they stood listening to his chaffing 
remarks. 


162 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ He ’ll require a deal of taming,” said Jim Welton, 
who was standing by ; “ but he ’s a smart, well- 
disposed little fellow as far as I know him.” 

Morley Jones, who was seated on the starboard 
bulwarks not far off, confided his opinion to no one, 
but he was observed to indulge in a sardonic grin, 
and to heave his shoulders as if he were agitated 
with suppressed laughter when this last remark was 
made. 

The steamer meanwhile had been making towards 
another of the floating lights, alongside of which 
some time was spent in transferring the full water- 
casks, receiving the “ empties,” etc., and in changing 
the men. The same process was gone through 
with the other vessels, and then, in the afternoon, 
they returned towards Ramsgate harbour. On the 
way they stopped at one of the large buoys which 
required to be painted. The weather being suitable 
for that purpose, a boat was lowered, black and 
white paint-pots and brushes were put into her, 
and Jack Shales, Dick Moy, and Jerry MacGowl 
were told off to perform the duty. Stanley Hall 
also went for pastime, and Billy Towler slid into the 
boat like an eel, without leave, just as it pushed off. 

“ Get out, ye small varmint !” shouted Jerry ; but 
the boy did not obey ; the boat was already a few 
feet off from the vessel, and as the captain either 
did not see or did not care, Billy was allowed to go. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


1G3 


“ You ’ll only be in the way, an’ git tired of yer 
life before we ’re half done,” said Dick Moy. 

“ Never mind, he shall keep me company/’ said 
Stanley, laughing. “We will sit in judgment on 
the work as it proceeds — won’t we, Billy ?” 

“ Well, sir,” replied the boy, with intense gravity, 
“ that depends on whether yer fine-hart edication has 
bin sufficiently attended to ; but I ’ve no objection 
to give you the benefit o’ my adwice if you gits into 
difficulties.” 

A loud laugh greeted this remark, and Billy, 
smiling with condescension, said he was gratified by 
their approval. 

A few minutes sufficed to bring them along- 
side the buoy, which was one of the largest size, 
shaped like a cone, and painted in alternate stripes 
of white and black. It rose high above the heads 
of the men when they stood up beside it in the boat. 
It was made of timber, had a wooden ring round it 
near the water, and bore evidence of having received 
many a rude buffet from ships passing in the dark. 

“A nice little buoy this,” said Billy, looking at 
it with the eye and air of a connoisseur; “wot’s 
its name ? ” 

“ The North Goodwin ; can’t ’ee read ? don’t ’ee see 
its name up there on its side, in letters as long as 
yerself ?” said Jack Shales, as he stirred up the paint 
in one of the pots. 


164 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ All, to be sure ; well, it might have bin named 
the Uncommon Good- win,” said Billy, “for it seems 
to have seen rough service, and to have stood it 
well. Come, boys, look alive, mix yer colours an’ 
go to work ; England expecks every man, you know, 
for to do his dooty.” 

“Wot a bag of impudence it is !” said Dick Moy, 
catching the ring-bolt on the top of the buoy with 
the boat-hook, and holding the boat as close to it 
as possible, while his mates dipped their brushes 
in the black and white paint respectively, and began 
to work with the energy of men who know that their 
opportunity may be cut short at any moment by a 
sudden squall or increasing swell. 

Indeed, calm though the water was, there was 
enough of undulation to render the process of paint- 
ing one of some difficulty, for, besides the impossi- 
bility of keeping the boat steady, Dick Moy found 
that all his strength could not avail to prevent the 
artists being drawn suddenly away beyond reach of 
their object, and as suddenly thrown against it, so 
that their hands and faces came frequently into con- 
tact with the wet paint, and gave them a piebald 
appearance. 

For some time Billy contented himself with look- 
ing on and chaffing the men, diversifying the amuse- 
ment by an occasional skirmish with Stanley, who had 
firmed himself with a brush and was busy helping. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


165 


" It’s raither heavy work, sir, to do all the judg- 
ment business by myself,” he said. “ There ’s that 
feller Shales, as don’t know how a straight line 
should be draw’d. Couldn’t ye lend me your brush, 
Jack? or p’raps Dick Moy will lend me his beard, 
as he don’t seem to he usin’ it just now.” 

“ Here, Dick,” cried Stanley, giving up his brush, 
“ you ’ve had enough of the holding- on business ; 
come, I ’ll relieve you.” 

“Ay, that’s your sort,” said Billy; "muscle to 
the boat-’ook, an’ brains to the brush.” 

“ Hold on tight, sir,” cried Shales, as the boat gave 
a heavy lurch away from the buoy, while the three 
painters stood leaning as far over the gunwale as 
was consistent with safety, and stretching their arms 
and brushes towards the object of their solicitude. 

Stanley exerted himself powerfully ; a reactionary 
swell helped him too much, and next moment the 
three men went, heads, hands, and brushes, plung- 
ing against the buoy ! 

“ Och ! mouther !” cried Jerry, one of whose black 
hands had been forced against a white stripe, and 
left its imprint there. “ Look at that, now ! ” 

“ All right,” cried Shales, dashing a streak of 
white over the spot. 

“ There ’s no preventing it,” said Stanley, apolo- 
getically, yet laughing in spite of himself. 

"I say, Jack, this is ’igh art, this is,” observed 


166 


THE FLOATING! LIGHT 


Moy, as he drew back to take another dip, “but I’m 
free to confess that I ’d raither go courtin’ the girls 
than painting the buoys.” 

“ Oh ! Dick, you borrowed that from me,” cried 
Billy ; “ for shame, sir ! ” 

“Well, well,” observed Jerry, “it’s many a time 
I ’ve held on to a pairfter, but I niver thought to be- 
come wan. What would ye call this now — a land- 
scape or a portrait ? ” 

“ I would call it a marine piece,” said Stanley. 

“ How much, sir ?” asked Dick Moy, who had got 
upon the wooden ring of the buoy, and was standing 
thereon attempting, blit not very successfully, to 
paint in that position. 

“ A mareeny-piece, you noodle,” cried Billy; “don’t 
ye onderstand the genel’m’n wot’s a sittin’ on judg- 
ment on ’ee ? A mareeny-piece is a piece o’ mareeny 
or striped kaliko, w’ich is all the same, and wery 
poor stuff it is too. Come, I ’ll stand it no longer. 
I hold ye in sich contempt that I must look down 
on ’ee.” 

So saying, the active little fellow seized the boat- 
hook, and swung himself lightly on the buoy, the 
top of which he gained after a severe scramble, amid 
the indignant shouts of the men. 

“ Well, since you have gone up there, we ’ll keep 
you there till we are done.” 

“ All right, my hearties,” retorted Billy, in great 


OF TI1E GOODWIN SANDS. 


167 


delight and excitement, as the men went on with 
their work. 

Just then another heave of the swell drew the 
boat away, obliging the painters to lean far over the 
side as before, pointing towards their “pictur,” as 
Jerry called it, but unable to touch it, though ex- 
pecting every moment to swing within reach again. 
Suddenly Billy Towler — while engaged, no doubt, 
in some refined piece of mischief — slipped and fell 
backwards with a loud cry. His head struck the 
side of the boat in passing, as he plunged into the sea* 

“ Ah, the poor craitur ! ” cried Jerry MacGowl, 
immediately plunging after him. 

Now, it happened that Jerry could not swim a 
stroke, but his liking for the boy, and the suddenness 
of the accident, combined with his reckless disposi- 
tion, rendered him either forgetful of or oblivious to 
that fact. Instead of doing any good, therefore, to 
Billy, he rendered it necessary for the men to give 
their undivided attention to hauling his unwieldy 
carcase into the boat. 

The tide was running strong at the time. Billy 
rose to the surface, but showed no sign of life. He 
was sinking again, when Stanley Hall plunged into 
the water like an arrow, and caught him by the hair. 

Stanley was a powerful swimmer, but he could 
make no headway against the tide that was running 
to the southward at the time, and before the men 


168 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


had succeeded in dragging their enthusiastic but 
reckless comrade into the boat, Billy and his friend 
had been swept to a considerable distance. As soon 
as the oars were shipped, however, they were quickly 
overtaken and rescued. 

Stanley was none the worse for his ducking, but 
poor Billy was unconscious, and had a large cut in 
his head, which looked serious. When he was taken 
on board the tender, and restored to consciousness, he 
was incapable of talking coherently. In this state 
he was taken back to Bamsgate and conveyed to 
the hospital. 

There, in a small bed, the small boy lay for many 
weeks, with ample leisure to reflect upon the im- 
propriety of coupling fun — which is right — with 
mischief — which is emphatically wrong, and gener- 
ally leads to disaster. But Billy could not reflect, 
because he had received a slight injury to the brain, 
it was supposed, which confused him much, and 
induced him, as his attentive nurse said, to talk 
“ nothing but nonsense.” 

The poor boy’s recently-made friends paid him all 
the attention they could, but most of them had 
duties to attend to which called them away, so that, 
ere long, with the exception of an occasional visit 
from Mr. Wei ton of the Gull light, he was left 
entirely to the care of the nurses and house-surgeons 
who were extremely kind to him. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


169 


Mr. Morley J ones, who might have been expected 
to take an interest in his proteg^ left him to his fate, 
after having ascertained that he was in a somewhat 
critical condition, and, in any case, not likely to he 
abroad again for many weeks. 

There was one person, however, who found out 
and took an apparently deep interest in the boy. 
This was a stout, hale gentleman, of middle age, 
with a bald head, a stern countenance, and keen 
grey eyes. He came to the hospital, apparently as 
a philanthropic visitor, inquired for the boy, intro- 
duced himself as Mr. Larks, and, sitting down at 
his bedside, sought to ingratiate himself with the 
patient. At first he found the boy in a condition 
which induced him to indulge chiefly in talking 
nonsense, but Mr. Larks appeared to be peculiarly 
interested in this nonsense, especially when it had 
reference, as it frequently had, to a man named 
Jones ! After a time, when Billy became sane again, 
Mr. Larks pressed him to converse more freely about 
this Mr. Jones, but with returning health came 
Billy’s sharp wit and caution. He began to be more 
circumspect in his replies to Mr. Larks, and to put 
questions, in his turn, which soon induced that 
gentleman to discontinue his visits, so that Billy 
Towler again found himself in what might with 
propriety have been styled his normal condition — 
absolutely destitute of friends. 


170 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


But Billy was not so destitute as he supposed 
himself to be-^-as we shall see. 

Meanwhile Morley Jones went about his special 
business. He reported the loss of the sloop Nora ; had 
it advertised in the Gazette; took the necessary steps 
to prove the fact; called at the office of the Submarine 
Insurance Company, and at the end of three weeks 
walked away, chuckling, with £300 in his pocket! 

In the satisfaction which the success of this piece 
of business induced, he opened his. heart and mind 
pretty freely to his daughter Nora, and revealed not 
only the fact of Billy Towler’s illness, but the place 
where he then lay. Until the money had been 
secured he had kept this a secret from her, and had 
sent Jim Welton on special business to Gravesend 
in order that he might be out of the way for a time, 
but, the motive being past, he made no more secret 
of the matter. 

Nora, who had become deeply interested in the 
boy, resolved to have him brought up from Rams- 
gate to Yarmouth by means of love, not being pos- 
sessed of money. The moment, therefore, that Jim 
Welton returned, she issued her commands that he 
should go straight off to Ramsgate, find the boy, 
and, by hook or crook, bring him to the “ Garden of 
Eden,” on pain of her utmost displeasure. 

“But the thing an’t possible/’ said Jim. “I 
haven’t got money enough to do it.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


171 


“ Then you must find money somehow, or make 
it,” said Nora, firmly. ‘‘That dear boy must be 
saved. When he was stopping here I wormed all 
his secrets out of his little heart, bless it — ” 

“ I don’t wonder !” interrupted Jim, with a look of 
admiration. 

“ And what do you think ? ” continued the girl, 
not noticing the interruption, “ he confessed to me 
that he had been a regular London thief ! Now I 
am quite sure that God will enable me to win him 
back, if I get him here — for I know that he is fond 
of me — and I am equally sure that he will be lost if 
he is again cast loose on the world.” 

“ God bless you, Nora ; I ’ll do my best to fetch 
him to ’ee, even if I should have to walk to Kams- 
gate and carry him here on my shoulders ; but don’t 
you think it would be as well also to keep him— 
forgive me, dear Nora, I must say it— to keep him 
out of your father’s way ? He might teach him L 
drink, you know, if he taught him no worse, and 
that ’s bad enough.” 

Nora’s face grew pale as she said— 

“ Oh, Jim, are you sure there is nothing worse 
that he is likely to teach him ? My father has a 
great deal of money just now, 1 — 1 hope that — ” • 

“ Why, Nora, you need not think he stole it,” said 
Jim hurriedly, and with a somewhat confused look ; 
“ he got it in the regular way from the Insurance 


172 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Company, and I couldn’t say that there’s anything 
absolutely wrong in the business ; but — ” 

The young sailor stopped short and sighed deeply. 

Nora’s countenance became still more pale, and 
she cast down her eyes, but spoke not a word for 
some moments. 

“ You must bring the boy to me, Jim,” she resumed, 
with a sudden start. “ He may be in danger here, 
but there is almost certain ruin before him if he is 
left to fall back into his old way of life.” 

We need not trouble the reader with a detailed 
account of the means by which Jim Welton accom 
plished his object. Love prevailed — as it always 
did, always does, and always will — and ere many 
days had passed Billy Towler was once more a 
member of the drunkard’s family, with the sweet 
presence of Nora ever near him, like an angel’s wing 
overshadowing and protecting him from evil. 


OS THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


173 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE ANCIENT CORPORATION OF TRINITY HOUSE OF DEPTFORD STROND. 

As landmarks — because of their affording variety, 
among other reasons — are pleasant objects of con- 
templation to the weary traveller on a long and 
dusty road, so landmarks in a tale are useful as 
resting-places. We purpose, therefore, to relieve the 
reader, for a very brief period, from the strain of 
mingled fact and fiction in which we have hitherto 
indulged — turn into a siding, as it were — and, before 
getting on the main line again, devote a short 
chapter to pure and unmitigated fact. 

So much has been said iu previous chapters, and 
so much has yet to be said, about the lights, and 
buoys, and beacons which guard the shores of Old 
England, that it would be unpardonable as well as 
ungracious were we to omit making special refer- 
ence to the ancient Corporation of Trinity House 
of Deptford Strond, under the able management 
of which the whole of the important work has been 


174 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


devised and earned into operation, and is now most 
efficiently maintained. 

It cannot be too urgently pressed upon un-nautical 
— especially young — readers, that the work which 
this Corporation does, and the duties which it per- 
forms, constitute what we may term vital service . 

It would be too much, perhaps, to say that the 
life of the nation depends on the faithful and wise 
conduct of that service, but assuredly our national 
prosperity is intimately bound up with it. The 
annual list of ships wrecked and lives lost on the 
shores of the kingdom is appalling enough already, 
as every observant reader of the newspapers must 
know, but if the work of the Trinity House — the 
labours of the Elder Brethren — were suspended for 
a single year — if the lights, fixed and floating, were 
extinguished, and the buoys and beacons removed, 
the writer could not express, nor could the reader 
conceive, the awful crash of ruin, and the terrific cry 
of anguish that would sweep over the land from end 
to end, like the besom of destruction. 

We leave to hard-headed politicians to say what, 
or whether, improvements of any kind might be 
made in connection with the Trinity Corporation. 
We do not pretend to be competent to judge whether 
or not that work might be letter done. All that we 
pretend to is a certain amount of competency to judge, 
and right to assert, that it is well done, and one of 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


175 


the easiest ways to assure one’s-self of that fact is, to 
go visit the lighthouses and light- vessels on the coast, 
and note their perfect management; the splendid 
adaptation of scientific discoveries to the ends they 
are designed to serve ; the thoroughness, the cleanli- 
ness, the beauty of everything connected with the 
materiel employed; the massive solidity and ap- 
parent indestructibility of the various structures 
erected and afloat ; the method everywhere observ- 
able; the perfect organization and the steady re- 
spectability of the light-keepers — observe and note 
all these things, we say, and it will be impossible to 
return from the investigation without a feeling that 
the management of this department of our coast 
service is in pre-eminently able hands. 

Nor is this to be wondered at, when we reflect 
that the Corporation of Trinity House is composed 
chiefly (the acting part of it entirely) of nautical 
men — men who have spent their youth and man- 
hood on the sea, and have had constantly to watch 
and guard against those very rocks and shoals, and 
traverse those channels which it is now their duty 
to light and buoy * 

It has been sagely remarked by some philosopher, 

* The service which the Corporation of Trinity House renders to 
the coasts of England, is rendered to those of Scotland by the Com- 
missioners of Northern Lights, and to those of Ireland by the Com- 
missioners of Irish Lights— both, to some extent, under the supervision 
of the Trinity House. 


176 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


we believe — at least it might have been if it has not 
— that everything must have a beginning. We 
agree with the proposition, and therefore conclude 
that the Corporation of Trinity House must have 
had a beginning, but that beginning would appear 
to be involved, in those celebrated “ mists of- anti- 
quity ” which unhappily obscure so much that men 
would give their ears to know now-a-days. 

Fire — which has probably been the cause of more 
destruction and confusion than all of the other 
elements put together — was the cause of the difficulty 
that now exists in tracing this ancient Corporation to 
its origin, as will be seen froin the following quota- 
tion from a little “ Memoir, drawn up the present 
Deputy-Master, and printed for private distribu- 
tion,” which w$s kindly lent to us by the present 
secretary of the House, and froin which most of 
our information has been derived. 

“ The printed information hitherto extant [in 
regard to the Corporation of Trinity House] is 
limited to the charter of confirmation granted by 
James II (with the minor concession, by Charles n., 
of Thames Ballastage) and a compilation from the 
records of the Corporation down to -1746, by its 
then secretary, Mr. Whormby, supplemented by a 
memoir drawn up, in 1322, by Captain Joseph 
Cotton, then Deputy-master. But the data of these 
latter are necessarily imperfect, as the destruction 


OF T1IE GOODWIN SANDS. 


177 


by fire, in 1714, of the house in Water Lane had 
already involved a disastrous loss of documentary 
evidence, leaving much to be inferentially traced 
from collateral records of Admiralty and Navy 
Boards. These, however, sufficiently attest admini- 
strative powers and protective influence scarcely 
inferior to the scope of those departments” 

More than a hundred years before the date of its 
original charter (1514) the Corporation existed in 
the form of a voluntary association of the “ shipmen 
and mariners of England,” to which reference is 
made in the charter as being an influential body of 
long standing even at that time, which protected 
maritime interests, and relieved the aged and indi- 
gent among the seafaring community, for which 
latter purpose they had erected an almshouse at 
Deptford, in Kent, where also were their head- 
quarters. This society had inspired confidence and 
acquired authority to establish regulations for the 
navigation of ships and the government of seamen, 
which, by general consent, had been adopted through- 
out the service. It was, therefore, of tested and 
approved capacity, which at length resulted in the 
granting to it of a charter by Henry vm. in 1514. 

From this date the history proper of the Corpora- 
tion of Trinity House of Deptford Strond begins. 
In the charter referred to it is first so named, and 
is described as “ The Guild or Fraternity of the most 
u 


178 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


glorious and nndividable Trinity of St. Clement.” 
The subsequent charter of James I., and all later 
charters, are granted to “The Master, Wardens, and 
Assistants of the Guild, Fraternity, or Brotherhood 
of the most glorious and undivided Trinity, and of 
St. Clement, in the parish of Deptford, in the county 
of Kent.” The grant of Arms to the Corporation 
is dated 1573, and includes the motto, Trinitas in 
Unitate. 

No reason can now be assigned for the application 
of its distinctive title. The mere fact that the con- 
stitution of the guild included provision for the 
maintenance of a chaplain, and for the conduct of 
divine service in the parish church, is not, we think, 
sufficient to account for it. 

In the house or hall at Deptford, adjoining the 
almshouses, the business of the Corporation was first 
conducted. Afterwards, for the sake of convenient 
intercourse with shipowners and others, in a house 
in Ratcliffe ; next at Stepney, and then in Water 
Lane, Tower Street. The tenement there falling into 
decay — after having been twice burnt and restored 
— was forsaken, and an estate was purchased on 
Tower Hill, on which the present Trinity House was 
built, from designs by Wyatt, in 1798. 

A good idea of the relative antiquity of the Cor- 
poration may be gathered from the fact that about 
the year 1520 — six years after the date of the first 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


179 


charter — the formation of the Admiralty and Navy 
Boards was begun, and “ on the consequent estab- 
lishment of dockyards and arsenals, the Deptford 
building-yard was confided to the direction of the 
Trinity House, together with the superintendence of 
all navy stores and provisions. So closely, indeed, 
were the services related, that the first Master of the 
Corporation, under the charter, was Sir Thomas 
Spert, commander of the ‘ Henry Graced- Dieu/ 
(our first man-of-war), and sometime Controller of 
the Navy. The Corporation thus became, as it 
were, the civil branch of the English Maritime 
Service, with a naval element which it preserves to 
this day.” 

Government records show that the Trinity Brethren 
exercised considerable powers, at an early period, in 
manning and outfitting the navy ; that they reported 
on ships to be purchased, regulated the dimensions 
of those to be built, and determined the proper com- 
plement of sailors for each, as well as the armament 
and stores. Besides performing its peaceful duties, 
the Corporation was bound to render service at sea if 
required, but, in consideration of such liability, the 
Brethren and their subordinates were exempted from 
land service of every kind. They have been fre- 
quently called upon to render service afloat, “ and 
notably upon two occasions — during the mutiny at 
the Nore in 1797, when the Elder Brethren almost 


180 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


in view of the mutinous fleet, removed or destro}^ed 
every beacon and buoy that could guide its passage 
out to sea; and again in 1803, when a French inva- 
sion was imminent, they undertook and carried out 
the defences of the entrance to the Thames by man- 
ning and personally officering a cordon of fully- armed 
ships, moored across the river below Gravesend, with 
an adequate force of trustworthy seamen, for destruc- 
tion, if necessary, of all channel marks that might 
guide an approaching enemy ” 

We cannot afford space to enter fully into the 
history of the Trinity Corporation. Suffice it to say 
that it has naturally been the object of a good deal 
of jealousy, and has undergone many searching 
investigations, from all of which it has emerged 
triumphantly. Its usefulness having steadily ad- 
vanced with all its opportunities for extension, it 
received in 1836 “the culminating recognition of an 
Act of Parliament, empowering its executive to pur- 
chase of the Crown, and to redeem from private pro- 
prietors, their interests in all the coast- lights of 
England, thus bringing all within its own control. 
By Crown patents, granted from time to time, the 
Corporation was enabled to raise, through levy of 
tolls, the funds necessary for erection and maintenance 
of these national blessings ; . . . and all surplus of 
revenue over expenditure was applied to the relief 
of indigent and aged mariners, their wives, widows, 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


181 


and orphans.” About 1853, the allowance to out- 
pensioners alone amounted to upwards of £30,000 per 
annum, and nearly half as much more of income, 
derived from property held in trust for charitable 
purposes, was applied to the maintenance of the 
almshouses at Deptford and Milo- end, and to other 
charitable uses for the benefit of the maritime 
community. 

The court or governing body of the Corporation 
is now composed of thirty-one members, namely, the 
Master, four Wardens, eight Assistants, and eighteen 
Elder Brethren. The latter are elected out of those 
of the class of younger Brethren who volunteer, and 
are approved as candidates for the office. Eleven 
members of this court of thirty- one are men of dis- 
tinction — members of the Boyal Family, Ministers 
of State, naval officers of high rank, and the like. 
The remainder — called Acting Brethren — are chiefly 
officers of the mercantile marine, with a very few — 
usually three— -officers of Her Majesty’s navy. The 
younger Brethren — whose number is unlimited — 
are admissible at the pleasure of the court. They 
have no share in the management, but are entitled 
to vote in the election of Master and Wardens. 

The duties of the Corporation, as described in their 
charters generally, were to “ treat and conclude upon 
all and singular articles anywise concerning the 
science or art of mariners.” A pretty wide and some- 


182 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


what indefinite range ! At the present time these 
duties are, as follows : — 

To maintain in perfect working order all the light- 
houses, floating lights, and fog- signal stations on the 
coasts of England ; and to lay down, maintain, 
renew, and modify all the buoys, beacons, and sea- 
signals; to regulate the supply of stores, the appoint- 
ment of keepers, and constantly to inspect the 
stations — a service which entails unremitting atten- 
tion upon the members, some of whom are always 
on duty, either afloat in the steam - vessels or on land 
journeys. 

To examine and license pilots for a large portion 
of our coasts ; and to investigate generally into all 
matters relative to pilotage. 

To act as nautical advisers with the Judge of the 
High Court of Admiralty, a duty which frequently 
engages some of the Brethren for considerable periods 
of time on intricate causes of the greatest import- 
ance. 

To survey and inspect the channels of the Thames 
and the shoals of the North Sea, and other points of 
the coast at which shifting, scouring, growth or 
waste of sand may affect the navigation, and require 
to be watched and notified. 

To supply shipping in the Thames with ballast. 

The Elder Brethren have also to perform the 
duty of attending the Sovereign on sea-voyages. 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


183 


In addition to all this, it has to superintend the 
distribution of its extensive charities, founded on 
various munificent gifts and legacies, nearly all given 
or left for the benefit of “ poor Jack ” and his rela- 
tives ; and to manage the almshouses ; also the affairs 
of the House on Tower Hill, and the engineering 
department, with its superintendence of new works, 
plans, drawings, lanterns, optical apparatus, eta — the 
whole involving, as will be obvious to men who are 
acquainted with “ business,” a mass of detail which 
must be almost as varied as it is enormous. 

The good influence of the operations of the Trinity 
House might be shown by many interesting instances. 
Here is one specimen ; it has reference to ballast- 
heaving : — 

‘‘Formerly the ballast, when laid in barge or 
lighter alongside the ship to be supplied, was heaved 
on board by men who were hired and paid by vari- 
ous waterside contractors, and subjected to great 
hardships, not only from the greed of their employers, 
but from a demoralizing system of payment through 
publicans and local harpies. These evils were alto- 
gether removed by the establishment of a Heavers’ 
Office under control of the Trinity House, where 
men could attend for employment, and where their 
wages could be paid with regularity, and free from 
extortionate deduction.” 

Many more examples might be given, but were 


184 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


we to indulge in this strain our chapter would far 
exceed its proper limits. 

The light-vessels belonging to the Corporation are 
43 in number : 38 in position and 5 in reserve to 
meet casualties.* Of lighthouses there are 76 ; sixty- 
one of which, built of brick, stone, or timber, are on 
shore ; eleven, of granite, are on outlying rocks ; and 
four, on iron piles, are on sandbanks. There are 452 
buoys of all shapes and sizes on the coast, and half 
as many more in reserve, besides about 60 beacons of 
various kinds, and 2 1 storehouses in connection with 
them. Also 6 steam-vessels and 7 sailing tenders 
maintained for effecting the periodical relief of crews 
and keepers, shifting and laying buoys, etc. 

The working staff which keeps the whole complex 
machinery in order, consists of 7 district superin- 
tendents, 11 local agents, 8 buoy-keepers, 21 store- 
keepers, watchmen, etc. ; 177 lighthouse-keepers, 
^27 crews of floating lights, 143 crews of steam and 
sailing vessels, and 6 fog- signal attendants — a total 
of 800 men. 

Among the great and royal personages who have 

* The floating lights of England are illuminated hy means of lamps 
with metallic reflectors, on what is styled the catoptric system. The 
dioptric system, in which the rays of light are transmitted through 
glass, has been introduced into the floating lights of India by the 
Messrs. Stevenson, C.E., of Edinburgh. The first floating light on this 
system in India was shown on the Hoogly in 1865. Since then, seve- 
ral more dioptric lights have been sent to the same region, and also to 
Japan in 1869, and all reports agree in describing these lights as being 
eminently successful. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


185 


filled the office of Master of the Corporation of 
Trinity House, we find, besides a goodly list of dukes 
and earls — the names of (in 1837) the Duke of 
Wellington, (1852) H.R.H. Prince Albert, (1862) 
Viscount Palmerston, and (1866) II.RH. the Duke 
of Edinburgh. The last still holds office, and H.R.H. 
the Prince of Wales heads the list of a long roll 
of titled and celebrated honorary Brethren of the 
Corporation. 

We make no apology for the interpolation of this 
chapter, because if the reader has skipped it no 
apology is due, and if he has not skipped it, wo 
are confident that no apology will be required 


186 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHATTEll XII. 

STRANGE SIGHTS AND SCENES ON LAND AND SEA. 

The river Hoogly. Off Calcutta. Tropical vege- 
tation on the shore. Glittering sunshine on the 
water. Blue sky and fleecy clouds overhead. 
Equally blue sky and fleecy clouds down below. 
A world of sky and water, with ships and boats, 
resting on their own inverted images, in the midst. 
Sweltering heat everywhere. Black men revelling 
in the sunshine. White men melting in the shade. 
The general impression such, that one might almost 
entertain the belief that the world has become 
white-hot, and the end of time is about to be 
ushered in with a general conflagration. 

Such is the scene, reader, to which we purpose to 
convey you. 

The day was yet young when a large vessel shook 
out her topsails, and made other nautical * demon- 
strations of an intention to quit the solid land ere 
long, and escape if possible from the threatened 
conflagration. 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


187 


u I wonder when those brutes will be sent off,” 
said the first mate of the ship to the surgeon, who 
.stood on the poop beside him. 

“What brutes do you refer to?” asked the sur- 
geon, who was no other than our young friend 
Stanley Hall. 

“ Why, the wild beasts, to be sure. Have you 
not heard that we are to have as passengers on the 
voyage home two leopards, an elephant, and a rhino- 
ceros ?” 

“ Pleasant company ! I wonder what Neptune 
will say to that?” said Stanley, with a laugh, as he 
walked forward to ask the opinion of the owner of 
the said Neptune. “ I say, Welton, we are to have 
an elephant, a rhinoceros, and two leopards, on this 
voyage.” 

“ Indeed ?” 

“ Yes, what will Neptune say to it ?” 

“Oh, he won’t mind, sir,” replied Jim, patting 
the head of the large Newfoundland dog with grey 
paws which stood beside him. 

Jim and Stanley had taken a fancy to each other 
when on board the Nora. The former had carried 
out a plan of going to sea, in order to be out of 
the way if he should happen to be wanted as a 
witness at the trial of Morley Jones, which event 
he felt certain must take place soon. He had made 
application to Stanley, who spoke to Mr. Durant 


188 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


about him, — the result being that Jim obtained a 
berth on board the ship Wellington, which stood 
A 1 at Lloyds. Hence we find him in the Hoogly. 

u Hep tune is a wise dog, sir,” continued Jim ; “ he 
don’t feel much put out by curious company, and is 
first-rate at taking care of himself. Besides, there 
is no jealousy in his nature. I suppose he feels that 
nobody can cut him out when he has once fairly 
established a friendship. I don’t grudge the dive 
off the bulwarks of the old Gull, when I saved Hep- 
tune, I assure you.” 

“ He was worth saving,” remarked Stanley, stoop- 
ing to pat the meek head of the dog. 

“ Yes, I heard last night of the expected passen- 
gers,” pursued Jim, “ and am now rigging up tackle 
to hoist ’em on board. I meant to have told you of 
’em last night, but we got into that stiff argument 
about teetotalism, which put it completely out of 
my head.” 

“Ah, Welton, you’ll never convince me that 
teetotalism is right,” said Stanley, with a good- 
humoured laugh. “ Hot that I care much about 
wine or spirits myself, but as long as a man uses 
them in moderation they can do him no harm.” 

“So I thought once, sir,” returned Jim, “but I 
have seen cause to change my mind. A healthy 
man can’t use them in moderation, because, use is 
abuse. Stimulants are only fit for weaklings and 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


189 


sick folk. As well might a stout man use crutches 
to help him to walk, as beer or brandy to help him 
to work ; yet there are some strong young men so 
helpless that they can’t get on at all without their 
beer or grog !” 

“ Come, I ’ll join issue with you on that point,” 
said Stanley, eagerly, for he was very fond of an 
argument with Jim, who never lost his temper, and 
who always paid his opponent the compliment of 
listening attentively to what he had to say. 

“Not just now,” replied Jim, pointing towards 
the shore ; “ for yonder comes a boat with some of 
the passengers v/e were talking of.” 

“ Is that tackle rigged, Welton?” shouted the mate. 

“ It is, sir,” replied Jim. 

“Then stand by, some of you, to hoist these 
leopards aboard.” 

When the little boat or dingy came alongside, it 
was observed that the animals were confined in a 
large wooden cage, through the bars of which they 
glared savagely at the half-dozen black fellows who 
conveyed them away from their native land. They 
seemed to be uncommonly irate. Perhaps the in- 
justice done them in thus removing them against 
their will had something to do with it. Possibly 

0 

the motion of the boat had deranged their systems. 
Whatever the cause, they glared and growled tre- 
mendously. 


190 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ Are you sure that cage is strong enough ?” asked 
the mate, casting a dubious look over the side. 

“ Oh yes, massa — plenty strong. Hould a Bengal 
tiger,” said one of the black fellows, looking up with 
a grin which displayed a splendid double row of 
glittering teeth. 

“ Very well, get the slings on, Welton, and look 
sharp, boYn, for more company of the same kind is 
expected,” said the mate. 

The bo’s’n — a broad, short, burly man, as a boat- 
swain always is and always ought to be, with, of 
course, a terrific bass voice, a body outrageously 
long, and legs ridiculously short — replied, “ Ay, ay, 
sir,” and gave some directions to his mates, who 
stood by the hoisting tackles. 

At the first hoist the appearance of the cage justi- 
fied the mate’s suspicions, for the slings bent it in so 
much that some of the bars dropped out. 

“ Avast heaving,” roared the boatswain. “ Lower!” 

Down went the cage into the dingy. The bars 
were promptly replaced, and the slings fastened in 
better position. 

“ Try it again, bo’s’n” said the mate. 

The order to hoist was repeated, and up went the 
cage a second time, but it bent as before, so that 
several bars again slipped out, leaving the leopards 
sufficient space to jump through if they chose. 

“ Lower !” yelled the mate. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


191 


The men obeyed promptly — rather tco promptly ! 
The cage went down by the run into the boat, and 
with a crash fell asunder. 

“ Cut the rope !” cried the mate. 

Jim Welton jumped into the chains, cut the painter, 
and the boat was swept away by the tide, which was 
running strong past the ship. At the same moment 
the black fellows went over the sides into the water 
like six black eels radiating from a centre, and away 
went the dingy with the leopards in possession, 
mounted on the debris of their prison, lashing their 
sides with their tails, and looking round in proud 
defiance of all mankind ! 

The crew of the boat, each of whom could swim 
like a frog, were soon picked up. Meanwhile, all on 
board the Wellington who had telescopes applied them 
to their eyes, and watched the progress of the dingy. 

It chanced that the current set with considerable 
force towards the opposite side of the river, where 
lay an island on which was a public garden. There 
ladies and gentlemen in gay costume, as well as 
many natives and children, were promenading the 
shady walks, chatting pleasantly, listening to the 
sweet strains of music, enjoying the fragrance :>f 
scented flowers, with the jungle and its inhabitants 
very far indeed from their thoughts— except, per- 
chance, in the case of a group surrounding a young 
officer, who was, no doubt, recounting the manner in 


i92 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


which he had potted a tiger on the occasion of his 
last day out with the Rajah of Bangalore, or some 
such dignitary ! 

Straight to the shores of this Eden -like spot the 
dingy drifted, and quietly did the leopards abide 
the result — so also did the deeply interested crew of 
the Wellington, who, of course, were quite unable to 
give any note of warning. 

The little boat was seen to touch the shore, and 
the leopards were observed to land leisurely without 
opposition from the enemy. Immediately after, 
something resembling a sensation was apparent in 
the garden. The distance was too great to permit 
of sound travelling to the observers, but it lent 
enchantment to the view to the extent of rendering 
the human beings there like moving flowers of 
varied hue. Presently there was a motion, as if a 
tornado had suddenly burst upon the flower-beds 
and scattered them right and left in dire confusion 
— not a few appearing to have been blown up into 
the trees ! 

That same day the crack shots and sportsmen of 
Calcutta went down to the usually peaceful islet 
and engaged in all the wild work of a regular hunt, 
and at eve the two leopards were seen, by interested 
observers in the Wellington, being conveyed away 
in triumph on a litter. 

But, long before this happy consummation of the 


OF THE GOODWIN BANDS. 


193 


day’s sport in the garden, the remainder of the 
expected company had arrived alongside the Wel- 
lington, and the undaunted bo’s’n — who declared 
himself ready on the shortest notice to hoist any 
living creature on board, from a sperm whale to a 
megatherium — tackled the elephant. The ponderous 
brute allowed itself to be manipulated with the 
utmost good-humour, and when carefully lowered on 
the deck it alighted with as much softness as if it 
had been shod with India-rubber, and walked quietly 
forward, casting a leer out of its small eyes at the 
mate, as if it were aware of its powers, but magnani- 
mously forbore to use them to the disadvantage of 
its human masters. In passing it knocked off the 
boVn's hat, but whether this was done by accident 
or design has never been ascertained. At all events 
the creature made no apology. 

If this passenger was easy-going and polite, the 
rhinoceros, wliich came . next, was very much the 
reverse. That savage individual displayed a degree 
of perverse obstinacy and bad feeling which would 
have been deemed altogether inexcusable even in a 
small street-boy. 

In the whites of its very small grey eyes wicked - 
ness sat enthroned. The end of its horns — for it 
had two on its nose — appeared to be sharpened with 
malignity, its thick lips quivered with anger, and its 
ridiculously small tail wriggled with passionate 
N 


194 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


emotion, as if that appendage felt its insignificance, 
yet sought to obtrude itself on public notice. 

To restrain this passenger was a matter of the 
utmost difficulty. To get him into the slings might 
have perplexed Hercules himself, but nothing could 
appall the boVn. The slings were affixed, the order 
to hoist was given by the mate, who had descended 
from the poop, and stood near the gangway. Up 
went the monster with a grunt, and a peculiar 
rigidity of body, which evidently betokened horror at 
his situation. 

Being fully five tons in weight, this passenger had 
to be received on board with caution. 

“ Lower away,” was given. 

“ Hold on,” was added. 

Both orders were obeyed, and the huge animal 
hung within three inches of the deck. 

“ Stand clear there, lads.” 

There was no occasion for that order. It had 
been anticipated. 

“ Lower,” was again given. 

The moment the feet of the creature touched the 
deck he dashed forward with ungovernable fury, 
broke the slings, overturned the bo’s’n, who fortu- 
nately rolled into the port scuppers, and took pos- 
session of the ship, driving the men into the chains 
and up the rigging. 

“Jump up !” shouted Jim Welton to the boVn. ‘ 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


105 


* Here he comes aft !” yelled several of the men. 

There was no need to warn the boatswain. He 
heard the thunder of the monster’s feet, and sprang 
into the main rigging with an amount of agility that 
could hardly have been excelled by a monkey. 

“ Why, what are you all afraid of?” asked the 
captain of the ship, who had come on board with a 
number of passengers just before the occurrence of 
this incident. 

“ Come down here, sir, and you ’ll see,” replied the 
mate, who was in the main- chains. 

The captain declined with a smile, and advised 
the use of a lasso. 

Immediately every man of the ship’s crew became 
for the nonce a Mexican wild-horse tamer ! Kun- 
ning nooses were made, and Jack, albeit unused to 
taking wild cattle on the prairies of America, was, 
nevertheless, such an adept at casting a coil of rope 
that he succeeded beyond the most sanguine expec- 
tation. The bo’s’n was the first to throw a loop over 
the creature’s front horn — cast a hitch over its fore- 
mast as he styled it — amid a deafening cheer. He 
was immediately pulled out of the rigging, and a 
second time lay wallowing in the port scuppers ; but 
he cared nothing for that, being upheld by the glory 
of having succeeded in fixing the first noor,e. Soon 
after that Stanley Hall threw a noose over the 
creature’s head, and Jim Welton fixed one oc its 


L 9 6 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


second horn — or, as the bo’s’n said, round his mizzen. 
In the course of half-an-hour the rhinoceros was so 
completely entangled in the twisted ropes that he 
seemed as though he were involved in a net. He 
was finally captured, and led to a ponderous stall 
that had been prepared for him between the fore and 
main masts. 

Soon afterwards the last of the human passengers 
came on board. There were many of them. Officers 
and their wives and children — some in health, some 
in sickness. Old warriors returning home to repose 
on their laurels. Young warriors returning home to 
recruit their health, or to die. Women who went 
out as wives returning as widows, and women who 
went out as widows returning as wives. Some re- 
turning with fortunes made, a few returning with 
fortunes broken ; but all, old and young, healthy and 
sick, rich and poor, hopeful and hopeless, glad at 
the prospect of leaving the burning skies of India 
behind, and getting out among the fresh breezes 
of the open sea. Then the sails were set, and with 
a light evening breeze the Wellington began her 
voyage— homeward bound. . . . 

Once again the scene -changes. Blue skies are 
gone. Grey clouds preponderate. In the Atlantic, 
tossed by the angry billows, a large ship scuds before 
the wind as though she were fleeing from the pur- 
suit of a relentless enemy. She has evidently seen 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


197 


rough and long service. Her decks have been 
swept by many a heavy sea ; her spars have been 
broken and spliced. The foremast is sprung, the 
maintopgallant mast is gone, and the mizzen has 
been snapped off close by the deck. Her bulwarks 
are patched here and there, and her general appear- 
ance bears evidence of the tremendous power of 
Ocean. 

It would be difficult in that weatherworn hull to 
recognise the trim full-rigged ship that left the 
Hoogly many months before. 

It was not a recent gale that had caused all 
this damage. In the South Atlantic, several weeks 
before, she had encountered one of those terrific but 
short-lived squalls which so frequently send many 
of man’s stoutest floating palaces to the bottom. 
Hence her half- wrecked condition. 

The passengers on board the Wellington did not, 
however, seem to be much depressed by their altered 
circumstances. The fact was, they had become so 
used to rough weather, and had weathered so many 
gales, and reached their damaged condition by such 
slow degrees, that they did not realize it as we do, 
turning thus abruptly from one page to another. 
Besides this, although still some weeks’ sail from the 
white cliffs of old England, they already began to 
consider the voyage as good as over, and not a few 
of the impatient among them had begun to pack up 


198 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


so as to be ready for going ashore. And how care- 
fully were those preparations for landing made! 
With what interest the sandal- wood fans, and inlaid 
ivory boxes and elaborately carved chess-men and 
curious Indian toys, and costly Indian shawls were 
re-examined and repacked in more secure and care- 
fully-to-be-remembered corners, in order that they 
might be got at quickly when eager little hands “ at 
home — ” Well, well, it is of no use to dwell on what 
was meant to be, for not one of those love-tokens 
ever reached its destination. All were swallowed 
up by the insatiable sea. 

But let us not forestall. The elephant and rhino- 
ceros were the only members of the community that 
had perished on the voyage. At first the elephant 
had been dreaded by many, Lutfby degrees it won 
the confidence and affection of all. Houses in- 
numerable had been built for it on deck, but the 
sagacious animal had a rooted antipathy to restraint. 
No sort of den, however strongly formed, could hold 
him long. The first structures were so ridiculously 
disproportioned to his strength as to be demolished 
at once. On being put into the first “ house that 
Jack built,” he looked at it demurely for at least 
five minutes, as if he were meditating on the pro- 
bable intentions of the silly people who put him 
there, but neither by look nor otherwise did he 
reveal the conclusions to which he came. His in- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


190 


tentions, however, were not long of being made 
known. He placed bis great side against the den ; 
there was a slow but steady rending of timbers, as 
if the good ship herself were breaking up, a burst of 
laughter from the men followed, and “ Sambo ” was 
free. When the succeeding houses were built so 
strong that his side availed not, he brought his 
wonderful patience and his remarkable trunk to bear 
on them, and picked them to pieces bit by bit. 
Then ropes were tried, but he snapped weak ropes 
and untied strong ones. 

At last he was permitted to roam the decks at 
perfect liberty, and it was a point of the greatest 
interest to observe the neat way in which he picked 
his steps over the lumbered decks, without treading 
upon anything — ay, even during nights when these 
decks in the tropical regions were covered with 
sleeping men ! 

Everybody was fond of Sambo. Neptune doted 
on him, and the children — who fed him to such an 
extent with biscuits that the bo’s’n said he would be 
sartin’ sure to die of appleplexy — absolutely adored 
him. Even the gruff, grumpy, unsociable rhino- 
ceros amiably allowed him to stroke its head with 
his trunk. 

Sambo troubled no one except the cook, but that 
luxurious individual was so constantly surrounded 
by a halo, so to speak, of delicious and suggestive 


200 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


odours that the elephant could not resist the temp- 
tation to pay him frequent visits, especially when 
dinner was being prepared. One of his favourite 
proceedings at such times was to put his trunk into 
the galley, take the lid off the coppers, make a small 
coil of the end of his proboscis, and therewith at one 
sweep spoon out a supply of potatoes sufficient for 
half-a-dozen men ! Of course the cook sought to 
counteract such tendencies, but he had to be very 
circumspect, for Sambo resented insults fiercely. 

One day the cook caught his enemy in the very 
act of clearing out the potato copper. Enraged be- 
yond endurance, he stuck his “tormentors” into 
the animal’s trunk. With a shriek of rage Sambo 
dashed the potatoes in the man’s face, and made a 
rush at him. The cook fled to his sanctum and shut 
the door. There the elephant watched him for an 
hour or more. The united efforts, mental and phy- 
sical, of the ship’s crew failed to remove the indignant 
creature, so they advised the cook to remain where 
he was for some time. He hit on the plan, however, 
of re-winning the elephant’s friendship. He opened 
his door a little and gave him a piece of biscuit. 
Sambo took it. What his feelings were no one could 
tell, but he remained at his post. Another piece of 
biscuit was handed out. Then the end of the in- 
jured proboscis was smoothed and patted by the 
cook. Another large piece of biscuit was adminis- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


201 


tered, and by degrees the cure was effected. Thus 
successfully was applied that grand principle which 
has accomplished so much in this wicked world, even 
among higher animals than elephants — the overcom- 
ing of evil with good ! 

Eventually Sambo sickened. Either the cold of 
the north told too severely on a frame which had 
been delicately nurtured in sunny climes, or Sambo 
had surreptitiously helped himself during the hours 
of night to something deleterious out of the paint or 
pitch pots. At all events he died, to the sincere 
regret of all on board — -cook not excepted — and was 
launched overboard to glut the sharks with an un- 
wonted meal, and astonish them with a new sensa- 
tion. 

Very dissimilar was the end of the rhinoceros. 
That bumptious animal retained its unamiable 
spirit to the last. Fortunately it did not possess 
the powers or sagacity of the elephant. It could not 
untie knots or pick its cage to pieces, so that it was 
effectually restrained during the greater part of the 
voyage ; but there came a tempest at last, which 
assisted him in becoming free— free, not only from 
durance vile, but from the restraints of this life al- 
together. On the occasion referred to, the rudder 
was damaged, and for a time rendered useless, so 
that the good ship Wellington rolled to an extent 
that almost tore the masts out of her. Everything 


202 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


not firmly secured about the decks was washed over- 
board. Among other things, the rhinoceros was 
knocked so heavily against the bars of his crib that 
they began to give way. 

At last the vessel gave a plunge and roll which 
seemed to many of those on board as though it must 
certainly be her last. The rhinoceros was sent 
crashing through the dislocated bars ; the ropes that 
held his legs were snapped like the cords wherewith 
Samson was bound in days of old, and away he 
went with the lurch of a tipsy man against the long- 
boat, which he stove in. 

“ Hold on ! ” roared the bo’s’n. 

Whether this was advice to the luckless animal, or 
a general adjuration to everybody and everything to 
be prepared for the worst, we know not ; but instead 
of holding on, every one let go what he or she 
chanced to be holding on to at the moment, and 
made for a place of safety with reckless haste. The 
rhinoceros alone obeyed the order. It held on for a 
second or two in a most remarkable manner to the 
mainmast, but another lurch of the vessel cast it 
loose again ; a huge billow rolled under the stern ; 
down went the bow, and the brute slid on its 
haunches, with its fore legs rigid in front, at an in- 
credible pace towards the galley. Just as a smash 
became imminent, the bow rose, the stern dropt, and 
away he went back again with equal speed, but in a 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


203 


more sidling attitude, towards tlie quarter-deck. 
Before that point was reached, a roll diverted him 
out of course and he was brought up by the main 
hatch, from which he rebounded like a billiard ball 
towards the starboard gangway. At this point he 
lost his balance, and went rolling to leeward like 
an empty cask. There was something particularly 
awful and impressive in the sight of this unwieldy 
monster being thus knocked about like a pea in a 
rattle, and sometimes getting into attitudes that 
would have been worthy of a dancer on the tight- 
rope, but the consummation of the event was not far 
off. An unusually violent roll of the ship sent him 
scrambling to starboard; a still more vicious roll 
checked and reversed the rush and dashed him 
against the cabin skylight. He carried away part 
of this, continued his career, went tail-foremost 
through the port bulwarks like a cannon-shot into 
the sea. He rose once, but, as if to make-sure of 
her victory, the ship relentlessly fell on him with a 
weight that must have split his skull, and sent him 
finally to the bottom. 

Strange to say, the dog Neptune was the only one 
on board that appeared to mourn the loss of this 
passenger. He howled a good deal that night in an 
unusually sad tone, and appeared to court sym- 
pathy and caresses more than was his wont from Jim 
Welton and the young people who were specially 


204 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


attached to him, but he soon became reconciled, alas ! 
to the loss of his crusty friend. 

The storms ceased as they neared the shores of 
England. The carpenter and crew were so energetic 
in repairing damages that the battered vessel began 
to wear once more something of her former trim 
aspect, and the groups of passengers assembled each 
evening on the poop, began to talk with ever-deep- 
ening interest of home, while the children played 
beside them, or asked innumerable questions about 
brothers, sisters, and cousins, whose names were as 
familiar as household words, though their voices and 
forms were still unknown. 

The weather was fine, the sky was clear ; warm 
summer breezes filled the sails, and all nature 
seemed to have sunk into a condition so peaceful as 
to suggest the idea that storms were past and gone 
for ever, when the homeward-bound ship neared the 
land. One evening the captain remarked to the 
passengers, that if the wind would hold as it was 
a little longer, they should soon pass through the 
Downs, and say good-bye to the. sea breezes and the 
roll of the ocean wave. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


205 


CHAPTER XIII. 


BOB QUEERER COMES OUT VERY STRONG INDEED. 

It is both curious and interesting to observe the 
multitude of unlikely ways in which the ends of 
justice are ofttimes temporarily defeated. Who 
would have imagined that an old pump would be the 
cause of extending Morley Jones’s term of villainy, 
of disarranging the deep-laid plans of Mr. Larks, of 
effecting the deliverance of Billy Towler, and of at 
once agonizing the body and ecstatifying the soul of 
Robert Queeker ? Yet so it was. If the old pump 
had not existed — if its fabricator had never been 
born — there is every probability that Mr. Jones’s 
career would have been cut short at an earlier period 
That he would, in his then state of mind, have im- 
plicated Billy, who would have been transported 
along with him and almost certainly ruined ; that 
Mr. Queeker would — but hold. Let us present the 
matter in order. 

Messrs. Merryheart and Dashope were men of the 


206 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


law, and Mr. Robert Queeker was a man of tlieir 
office — in other words, a clerk — not a “ confidential” 
one, but a clerk, nevertheless, in whose simple- 
minded integrity they had much confidence. Bob, 
as his fellow- clerks styled him, was sent on a secret 
mission to Ramsgate. The reader will observe how 
fortunate it was that his mission was secret , because 
it frees us from the necessity of setting down here 
an elaborate and tedious explanation as to how, 
when, and where the various threads of his mission 
became interwoven with the fabric of our tale. Suf- 
fice it to say that the only part of his mission with 
which we are acquainted is that which had reference 
to two men— ^one of whom was named Mr. Larks, 
the other Morley J ones. 

Now, it so happened that Queeker’s acquaintance, 
Mr. Durant, had an intimate friend who dwelt near 
a beautiful village in Kent. When Queeker men- 
tioned the circumstance of the secret mission which 
called him to Ramsgate, he discovered that the old 
gentleman was on the point of starting for this village, 
in company with his daughter and her cousin Fanny. 

“ You ’ll travel with us, I hope, Queeker ; our 
roads lie in the same direction, at least a part of the 
way, you know,” said the hearty little old gentle- 
man, with good-nature beaming in every wrinkle, 
from the crown of his bald head to the last fold of 
his treble chin ; “ it will be such a comfort to have 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


207 


you to help me take care of the girls. And if yon 
can spare time to turn aside for a day or two, I pro- 
mise you a hearty welcome from my friend — whose 
residence, named Jenkinsjoy, is an antique paradise, 
and his hospitality unbounded. He has splendid 
horses, too, and will give you a gallop over as fine 
a country as exists between this and the British 
Channel. You ride, of course ? ” 

Queeker admitted that he could ride a little. 

“ At least,” he added, after a pause, “ I used fre- 
quently to get rides on a cart-horse when I was a 
very little boy.” 

So it was arranged that Queeker should travel 
with them. Moreover, he succeeded in obtaining from 
his employers permission to delay for three days the 
prosecution of the mission — which, although secret, 
was not immediately pressing — in order that he 
might visit Jenkinsjoy. It was fortunate that, when 
he went to ask this brief holiday, he found Mr. 
Merryheart in the office. Had it been his mischance 
to fall upon Dashope, he would have received a blunt 
refusal and prompt dismissal — so thoroughly were 
the joys of that gentleman identified with the woes 
of other people. 

But, great though Queeker’s delight undoubtedly 
was on this occasion, it was tempered by a soul-har- 
assing care, which drew forth whole quires of poeti- 
cal effusions to the moon and other celestial bodies. 


208 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


This secret sorrow was caused by the dreadful and 
{Astonishing fact, that, do what he would to the con- 
trary, the weather-cock of his affections was veering 
slowly but steadily away from Katie, and pointing 
more and more decidedly towards Fanny Hennings ! 
It is but simple justice to the poor youth to state 
that he loathed and abhorred himself in consequence. 

“There am I,” he soliloquized, on the evening be- 
fore the journey began, “ a monster, a brute, a lower 
animal almost, who have sought with all my strength 
to gain — perchance have gained — the innocent, trust- 
ing heart of Katie Durant, and yet, without really 
meaning it, but, somehow, without being able to help 
it, I am — not falling in love ; oh ! no, perish the 
thought ! but, but — falling into something strangely, 
mysteriously, incomprehensibly, ^ similar to — Oh ! 
base ingrate that I am, is there no way ; no back- 
door by which — ?” 

Starting up, and seizing a pen, at this point of 
irrepressible inspiration, he wrote, reading aloud as 
he set down the burning thoughts, — 

" Oh for a postern in the rear, 

Where wretched man might disappear ; 

And never more should seek her ! 

Fly, fly to earth’s extremest bounds, 

(Bounds, mounds, lounds, founds, kounds, downds. 
rounds, pounds, zounds ! — hounds — ha ! hounds — 
I have it) — 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


209 


“ Fly, fly to earth’s extremest bounds. 

With huntsmen, horses, horns, and hounds ; 

And die !— dejected Queeker. 

“ I wonder,” thought Queeker, as he sat biting the 
end of his quill — his usual method of courting in- 
spiration, “ I wonder if there is anything prophetic 
in these lines ! Durant said that his friend ha^ 
splendid horses. They may, perhaps, be hunters ! 
Ha ! my early ambition, perchance, youth’s fond 
dream, may yet be realized ! But let me not hope. 
Hope always tells a false as well as flattering tale 
to me. She has ever been, in my experience ” (he 
was bitter at this point) “ an incorrigible li — ahem ! 
story-teller.” 

Striking his clenched fist heavily on the table, 
Queeker rose, put on his hat, and went round to 
Mr. Durant’s merely to inquire whether he could be 
of any service — not that he could venture to offer 
assistance in the way of packing, but there might 
be something, such as roping trunks, or writing and 
affixing addresses, in regard to which he might 
perhaps render himself useful. 

“ Why, Miss Durant,” he said, on entering, “you 
are always busy.” 

“Am I?” said Katie, with a smile, as she rose 
and shook hands. 

“ Yes, I — I— assure you, Miss Durant,” said 
Queeker, bowing to Fanny, on whose fat pretty 
face there was a scarlet flush, the result either of 


o 


210 


THE FLOATING 7JGHT 


the suddenness of Queeker’s entry, or of the sup- 
pression of her inveterate desire to laugh, “ I assure 
you that it quite rouses my -admiration to. observe 
the ease with which you can turn your hand to any- 
thing. You can write out accounts better than any 
fellow in our office. Then you play and sing with 
so much ease, and I often find you making clothes 
for poor people, with pounds of tea and sugar in 
your pockets, besides many other things, and now, 
here you are painting like — like — one of the old 
masters !” 

This was quite an unusual burst on the part of 
Queeker, who felt as though he were making some 
amends for his unfaithfulness in thus recalling and 
emphatically asserting the unquestionably good 
qualities of his lady-love. He felt as if he were 
honestly attempting to win himself back to his 
allegiance. 

“ You are very- complimentary said Katie, with 
a glance at her cousin, which threw that young lady 
into silent convulsions. 

“Not at all,” cried Queeker, forcing his enthu- 
siasm up to white heat, and seizing a drawing, 
which he held up before him, in the vain attempt to 
shut Fanny out of his sight. 

“ Now, I call this most beautiful,” he said, in tones 
of genuine admiration. “ I never saw anything so 
sweet before.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


211 


“Indeed!” said Katie, who observed that the 
youth was gazing over the top of the drawing at her 
cousin. “ I - am so glad you like it, for, to say truth, 
I have felt disappointed with it myself, and papa 
says it is only so-so. Do point out to me its faults, 
Mr. Queeker, and the parts you like best.” 

She rose and looked over Queeker’s shoulder with 
much interest, and took hold of the drawing to keep 
it firmly in its position. 

There was an excessively merry twinkle in Katie’s 
eyes as she watched the expression of Queeker’s 
face when he exclaimed — 

“Faults, Miss Durant, there are no — eh! why, 
what — ” 

“ Oh you wicked, deceptive man, you Ve got it 
upside down !” said Katie, shaking her finger at the 
unhappy youth, who stammered, tried to explain — 
to apologize — failed, broke down, and talked unut- 
terable nonsense, to the infinite delight of his fair 
tormentor. 

As for- Fanny, that Hebe bent her head suddenly 
over her work-basket, and thrust her face into it as 
if searching with microscopic intensity for something 
that positively refused to be found. All that we 
can safely affirm in regard to her is, that if her face 
bore any resemblance to the scarlet of her neck, the 
fact that her workbox did not take fire is little 
short of a miracle ! 


212 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Fortunately for all parties Queeker inadvertently 
trod on the cat’s tail, which resulted in a spurt so 
violent as to justify a total change- of subject. 
Before the storm thus raised had calmed down, Mr. 
Durant entered the room. 

At Jenkinsjoy Queeker certainly did meet with a 
reception even more hearty than he had been led to 
expect. Mr. Durant’s friend, Stoutheart, his amiable 
wife and daughters and strapping sons, received the 
youthful limb of the law with that frank hospitality 
which we are taught to attribute “ to Merrie England 
in the olden time.” The mansion was old-fashioned 
and low-roofed, trellis- worked and creeper- loved ; 
addicted to oak panelling, balustrades, and tapestried 
walls, and highly suitable to ghosts of a humorous 
and agreeable tendency. Indeed it was said that 
one of the rooms actually was haunted at that very 
time ; but Queeker did not see any ghosts, although 
lie afterwards freely confessed to having seen all the 
rooms in the house more or less haunted by- fairy 
spirits of the fair sex, and masculine ghosts in buck- 
skins and top-boots! The whole air and aspect of 
the neighbourhood was such that Queeker half 
expected to find a May-pole in the neighbouring 
village, sweet shepherdesses in straw hats, pink 
ribbons, and short kirtles in the fields, and gentle 
shepherds with long crooks, playing antique flageo- 
lets on green banks, with innocent- looking dogs 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


213 


beside them, and humble-minded sheep reposing in 
Arcadian felicity at their feet. 

“ Where does the meet take place to-day, Tom V 
asked Mr. Stoutheart senior of Mr. Stoutheart 
junior, while seated at breakfast the first morning 
after their arrival at Jenkinsjoy. 

“ At Curmersfield,” replied young Stoutheart. 

"Ah, not a bad piece of country to cross. You 
remember when you and I went over it together, 
Amy?” 

" We have gone over it so often together, papa,” 
replied Amy, “ that I really don’t know to which 
occasion you refer.” 

“ Why, that time when we met the hounds 
unexpectedly ; when you were mounted on your 
favourite Wildfire, and appeared to have imbibed 
some of his spirit, for you went off at a tangent, 
crying out, “ Come along, papa ! ” and cleared the 
hedge at the roadside, crossed Slapperton’s farm, 
galloped up the lane leading to Curmersfield, took 
the ditch, with the low fence beyond at Cumitstrong’s 
turnip-field, in a flying leap — obliging me to go 
quarter of a mile round by the gate — and overtook 
the hounds just as they broke away on a false scent 
in the direction of the Neekornothing ditch.” 

* “ Oh yes, I remember,” replied Amy with a gentle 
smile ; “ it was a charming gallop. I wished to 
cuntinue it, but you thought the giound would be 


214 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


too “Inuch for me, though I have gone over it twice 
since then in perfect safety. You are far too timid, 
papa.” 

Queeher gazed and listened in open-mouthed 
amazement, for the young girl who acknowledged 
in an offhand way that she had performed such tre- 
mendous feats of horsemanship was modest, pretty, 
unaffected, and feminine. 

“ I wonder,” thought Queeker, “if Fan — ah, I 
mean Katie — could do that sort of thing ?” 

He looked loyally at Katie, but thought, dis- 
loyally, of her cousin, accused himself of base un- 
faithfulness, and, seizing a hot roll, began to eat 
violently. 

“Would you like to see the meet, Mr. Queeker?” 
said Mr. Stoutheart senior ; “ I can give you a good 
mount. My own horse, Slapover, is neither so ele- 
gant nor so high-spirited as Wildfire, but he can go 
over anything, and is quite safe.” 

A sensitive spring had been touched in the bosom 
of Queeker, which opened a floodgate that set loose 
an astonishing and unprecedented flow of enthusi- 
astic eloquence. 

“ I shall like it of all things,” he cried, with spark- 
ling eyes and heightened colour. “ It has been my 
ambition -ever since 1 was a little boy to- mount a 
thoroughbred and 'follow the hounds. I assure you 
the idea of ‘ crossing country,’ as it is called, I be- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


215 


lieve, and taking hedges, ditches, five-barred gates 
and everything as we go, has a charm for me which 
is absolutelydnexpressible — ” 

Queeker stopped abruptly, because he observed 
a slight flush on.,Fanny’s cheeks and a pursed ex- 
pression on Fanny’s lips, and felt uncertain as to 
whether or not she was laughing at him internally. 

“ Well said, Queeker,” cried Mr. Stoutheart en- 
thusiastically; “it’s a pity you are a town-bred 
man. Such spirit as yours can find vent only in 
the free air of the country !” 

“Amy, dear,” said Katie, with an extremely in- 
nocent look at her friend, “do huntsmen in this 
part of England usually take ‘ everything as they 
go V I think Mr. Queeker used that expression.” 

“ N — not exactly,” replied Amy, with a smile and 
glance of uncertainty, as if she did not quite see 
the drift of the question. 

“ Ah ! I thought not,” returned Katie with much 
gravity. “ I had always been under the impression 
that huntsmen were in the^ habit of going round 
stackyards, and houses, and such tliings-^not over 
them.” 

Queeker was stabbed — stabbed to the heart ! It 
availed not that the company laughed lightly at the 
joke, and that Mr. Stoutheait said that he (Queeker) 
should realize his young dream, and reiterated the 
assurance that his horse would carry him over any - 


216 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


thing if he only held tightly on and let him go. 
He had been stabbed by Katie — the gentle Katie — 
the girl whom he had adored so long — ha ! there 
was comfort in the word had; it belonged to the 
past ; it referred to things gone by ; it rhymed with 
sad, bad, mad ; it suggested a period of remote 
antiquity, and pointed to a hazy future. As the 
latter thought rushed through his heated brain, he 
turned his eyes on Fanny, with that bold look of 
dreadful-determination that marks the -traitor when, 
having fully made up his mind, he turns his - back 
on his -queen and flag for ever ! But poor Queeker 
found little comfort in the new prospect, for Fanny 
had been gently touched on the elbow by Katie 
when she committed her savage attack ; and when 
Queeker looked at the fair, fat cousin, she was in- 
volved in the agonies of a suppressed but tremen- 
dous -giggle. 

After breakfast two horses were brought to the 
door. Wildfire, a sleek, powerful roan of large size, 
was a fit steed for the stalwart Tom, who, in neatly- 
fitting costume and Hessian boots, got into the saddle 
like a man accustomed to it. The other horse, Slap- 
over, was a large, strong-boned, somewhat heavy 
steed, suitable for a man who weighed sixteen stone, 
and stood six feet in his socks. 

“ Now then, jump up, Queeker,” said Mr. Stout 
heart, holding the stirrup. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


217 


If Queeker had been advised to vault upon the 
ridge-pole of the house, he could not have looked 
more perplexed than he did as he stood looking up 
at the towering mass of horse-flesh, to the summit 
of which he was expected to climb. However,, 
being extremely light, and Mr. Stoutheart senior 
very strong, he was got into the saddle somehow. 

“ Where are the stirrups ?” said Queeker, with a 
perplexed air, trying to look over the side of his 
steed. 

“ Why, they’ve forgot to shorten ’em,” said Mr. 
Stoutheart with a laugh, observing that the irons 
were dangling six inches below the rider’s toes. 

This was soon rectified. Queeker’s glazed leather 
leggings — which were too large for him, and had a 
tendency to turn round — were put straight ; the 
reins were gathered up, and the huntsman rodo 
away. 

“All you’ve to do is to hold on,” shouted Mr. 
Stoutheart, as they rode through the gate. “ He is 
usually a little skittish at the start, but quiet as a 
lamb afterwards.” 

Queeker made no reply. His mind was brooding 
on his wrongs and sorrows ; for Katie had quietly 
whispered him to take care and not fall off, and 
Fanny had giggled again. 

“I must cure him of his foolish fancy,” thought 
Katie as she re-entered the house, “for Fanny’s 


218 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


sake, if for nothing else ; though I cannot conceive 
what she can see to like in him. There is no 
accounting for taste !” 

“I can at all events die — thought Queekei, 
as he rode along, shaking the reins and pressing his 
little legs against the horse as if with the savage 
intention of squeezing the animars ribs together. 

“ There was prophetic inspiration in the lines ! — 
yes,” he continued, repeating them, — 

“Fly, fly, to earth’s extremest bounds, 

With huntsmen, horses, horn, and hounds. 

And die — dejected Queeker ! 

I’ll change that — it shall be^r ejected Queeker now** 

For some time Tom Stoutheart and Queeker rode 
over “ hill and dale ” — that is to say, they traversed 
four miles of beautiful undulating and diversified 
country at a leisurely pace, having started in good 
time. 

“Your father,” observed Queeker, as they rode 
side by side down a green lane, “ said, I think, when 
we started, that this horse was apt to be skittish at 
the start. Is he difficult to hold in ? ” 

“Oh no,” replied Tom, with a reassuring smile. 
“ He is as quiet and manageable as any man could 
wish. He does indeed bounce about a little when 
we burst away at first, and is apt then to get the 
bit in his teeth; but you’ve only to keep a. tight 
rein and he ’ll go all right. His only fault is a habit 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SAN DA. 


219 


of tossing his head, which is a lit Ue- awkward until 
you get, used to it.” 

“Yes, I have -discovered that fault already,” re- 
plied Queeker, as the horse gave a practical illustra- 
tion of it by tossing his enormous head back until it 
reached to within an inch of the point of his rider’s 
nose. “Twice he has just- touched my forehead. 
Had I been, bending a little forward I suppose he. 
would have given me an unpleasant-blow.” 

“ Bather,” said Stoutheart junior. “I knew one 
poor fellow who was struck in that way by his 
horse and knocked off insensible. I think he was 
killed, but don’t feel quite- sure as to that.” 

“He has no other faults, I hope ?” asked Queeker. 

“None. As for refusing his leaps — ha refuses 
nothing. He carries my father over anything he 
chooses to run him at, so it’s not, likely that hell 
stick with a light-weight.” 

This was so self-evident that Queeker felt a reply 
to be unnecessary ; he rode on, therefore, in silence 
for a few minutes, comforting himself with the 
thought that, at all events, he^eould die ! 

“I don’t intend,” said Queeker, after a few 
minutes , consideration, “ to attempt to leap every- 
thing. I think that would ba foolhardy. I must 
tell you, Mr. Stoutheart, before we get to the place 
of meeting, that I can only ride a very little, and 
have never attempted to leap a fence of any kind. 


220 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Indeed I never bestrode a real hunter before. I shall 
therefore content myself with following the hounds as 
far as it is safe to do so, and will then give it up.” 

Young Stoutheart was a little surprised at the 
modest and prudent tone of this speech, but he 
good-naturedly replied, — 

“ Very well, I ’ll guide you through the gates and 
gaps. You just follow me, and you shall be all right, 
and when you’ve had enough of it, let me know.” 

Queeker and his friend were first in the field, but 
they had not been there many minutes when one 
and another and another, red- coat came cantering 
over the country, and ere long a larga cavalcade 
assembled in front of a mansion, the lawn of which 
formed the rendezvous. There were men of all sorts 
and sizes, on steeds of all kinds and shapes — little men 
on big horses, and big men on little horses ; men who 
looked like " bloated aristocrats” before the bloating 
process had begun, and men in whom the bloating 
process was pretty far advanced, but who had no 
touch of aristocracy to soften it. Men who looked 
healthy and happy, others who looked reckless and 
depraved. Some wore red-coats, cords, and, tops — 
others, to the surprise and no small, comfort of 
Queeker, who fancied that all huntsmen wore red 
coats, were habited in modest tweeds of brown and 
grey. Many of the horses were sleek, glossy, and 
fine-limbed, like racers; others were strong-boned and 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


221 


rough. Some few were of gigantic size and rugged 


aspect, to suit the massive men who bestrode them. 
One of these in particular, a hearty, jovial farmer — 
and a relative of Tom’s — appeared to the admiring 
Queeker to be big and powerful enough to have 
charged a whole troop of light dragoons single-handed 
with some hope of a successful issue. Ladies were 
there to witness the start, and two of the fair sex ap- 
peared ready to join the hunt and follow the hounds, 
while here and there little boys might be seen bent on 
trying their metal on the backs of Shetland ponies. 

It was a stirring scene of meeting, and chatting, 
and laughing, and rearing, and curvetting, and fresh 
air, and sunshine. 

Presently the master of the hounds came up with 
the pack at his heels. A footman of the mansion 
supplied all who desired it with a tumbler of beer. 

“ Have some beer ?” said young Stoutheart, point- 
ing to the footman referred to. 


“ Ho, thank you,” said Queeker. “ Will you ?” 

“Ho. I have quite enough of spirit within me. 
Don’t require artificial stimulant,” said the youth 
with a laugh. “ Come now-'-we ’re off.” 

Queeker’s heart gave a bound as he observed the 
master of the hounds ride off at a brisk pace fol- 
lowed by the whole field. 

“ I won’t die yet. It ’s too soon,” he thought, as 
he shook the reins and chirped to his steed. 


222 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


Slapovcr did not require chirping. He shook his 
head, executed a mild pirouette on his left hind leg, 
and made a plunge which threatened first to leave 
his rider behind, and then to shoot him over his 
head. Queeker had been taken unawares, but he 
pressed his knees together, knitted his brows, and 
resolved not to be so taken again. 

Whew ! what a rush there was as the two or 
three hundred excited steeds and enthusiastic riders j 
crossed the lawn, galloped through an open gate, < 
and made towards a piece of rough ground covered^ 
with low bushes and bracken, through which the j 
hounds were seen actively running as if in search of 
something. The bodies of the hounds were almost I 
hidden, and Queeker, whose chief attention was 1 
devoted to his horse, had only time to receive the ! 
vague impression, as he galloped up, that the place i 
was alive with white and pointed tails. 

That first rush scattered Queeker’s depression to ’ 
the winds. Wliat cared he for love, either sue- j 
cessful or unrequited, now ? Katie was forgotten, j 
Fanny was to him little better than a mere abstrac- 
tion. He was on a hunter ! He was following the 
hounds ! He had heard, or imagined he had heard, I 
something like a horn. He was surprised a little j 
that no one cried out “ Tally-ho ! ” and in the wild 
excitement of his feelings thought of venturing on 
it himself, but the necessity of holding in Slapovei 


OF TflE GOODWIN SANDS. 


223 


with all the power of his arms, fortunately induced 
him to. restrain his ardour. 

Soon after he heard a shout of some sort, which 
he tried to believe was “Tally-ho!” and the scat- 
tered huntsmen. who had been galloping about in 
all directions, converged into a stream. Following, 
he knew not and cared not what or whom, he swept 
round the margin of a little pond, and dashed over 
a neighbouring field. 

From that point Queeker’s recollection of events 
became a train of general confusion, with lucid 
points at intervals, where incidents of unusual in- 
terest or force arrested his attention. 

The first of these lucid points was when, at the 
end of a heavy burst over a ploughed field, he 
came to what may be styled his first leap. His hat 
by that time had threatened so frequently to come 
off, that he had thrust it desperately down on his 
head, until the rim behind rested on the back of his 
neck. Trotting through a gap in a hedge into a 
road, young Stoutheart sought about for a place by 
which they might clamber up into the next field 
without going round by the gate towards which 
most of the field had headed. 

“B* you think you could manage that?” said 
Tom, pointing with the handle of his whip to a gap 
in the hedge, where there was a mound and a hollow 
with a chevaux-de-frlse of cut stumps around, and a 


224 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


mass of thorn branches sufficiently thin to be broken 
through. 

Queeker never looked at it, but gazing steadily in 
the face of his friend, said, — 

“IUfollow!” 

Stoutheart at once pushed his horse at it. It 
could not be called a leap. It was a mere scramble, 
done at the slowest possible pace. Wildfire gave 
one or two little bounds, and appeared ^to walk up 
perpendicularly on his hind legs, while Tom looked 
as if he were plastered against him with some ad- 
hesive substance ; then he appeared to drop perpen- 
dicularly down on the other side, his tail alone being 
visible. 


All right, come along,” shouted Tom. 


Queeker rode 
gave a chirp 


up to the gap, smit ms fcyes, 
and committed himself to fate and 
Slapover. lie felt a succession of shocks, and then 
a pause. Venturing to open his eyes, he sa^ young 
Stoutheart, still on the other side of the fence, laugh- 
ing at him. 

“ You shouldn’t hold so tight by the veins,” he 
cried ; “ you ’ve pulled him back into the road. Try J 
it again.” 

Queeker once more shut his eyes, slacked the reins, j 
and, seizing the pommel of the saddle, gave another 
chirp. Again there was a shock, which appeared to 
drive his body up against his head ; another which 


shut his 


■ 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


22Z 


seemed to have all but snapped him off at the waist ; 
then a sensation about his hat, as if a few wild- 
cats were attempting to tear it off, followed by a 
drop and a plunge, which threw him forward on his 
charger’s neck. 

“ Dear me ! ” he exclaimed, panting, as he opened 
his eyes, “ I had no idea the shock would have been 
so — so — shocking ! ” 

Tom laughed ; cried “ Well done ! ” and galloped 
on. Queeker followed, his cheeks on fire, and per- 
spiration streaming from his brow. 

“ Now, then, here is an easy fence,” cried Stout- 7 
heart, looking back and pointing to a part of the 
field where most of the huntsmen were popping over 
a low hedge, “ will you try it ? ” 

Queeker’s spirit was fairly up. 

“ I ’ll try it ! ” he said, sternly. 

“ Come on then.” 

Stoutheart led the way gallantly, at full speed, 
and went over like an india-rubber ball. Queeker 
brought the handle of his riding-whip whack down 
on the flank of his astonished horse, and flew at the 
fence. Slapover took it with a magnificent bound. 
Queeker was all but left behind ! He tottered, as 
it were, in the saddle; rose entirely out of it; came 
down with a crash that almost sent him over the 
horsed head, and gave him the probable sensations 
of a telescope on being forcibly shut up; but he held 

p 


226 


TIIK FLOATING LIGHT 


on bravely, and ..galloped up alongside of his com- 
panion, with a tendency to. cheer despite his increased 
surprise at the extreme violence of the shocks to 
which his unaccustomed frame was being exposed. 

After this our enthusiastic Nimrod went at every- 
thing, and feared nothing! Well was it for him 
that he had arranged to follow Tom Stoutheart, else 
assuredly he would have run Slapover at fences which 
would have taxed the temerity even of that quadru- 
ped, and insured his destruction. Tom, seeing his 
condition, considerately kept him out of danger, and 
yet, being thoroughly acquainted with the country, 
managed to keep him well up with the hounds. 

Towards the afternoon Queeker’s lire began to 
abate. His aspect had become dishevelled. His 
hat had got so severely thrust down on his head, J 
that the brim in front reposed on the bridge of his 
nose, as did the brim behind on the nape of his neck. 
His trousers were collected in folds chiefly about his 
knees, and the glazed leggings had turned completely 
round, presenting the calves to the front. But these 
were matters of small moment compared with the 
desperate desire he had to bring his legs together, 
if even for a moment of time ! Sensations in various n 
parts of his frame, which in the earlier part of the 
day had merely served tc* remind him that he was 
mortal, had now culminated into unquestionable 
aches and pains, and his desire to get off the back 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


227 


of Slapover became so intense, that he would cer- 
tainly have given way to it had he not felt that in 
the event of his doing so there would be no possi- 
bility of his getting on again ! 

“ Where are they all away to ?” he asked in sur- 
prise, as the whole field went suddenly off helter - 
skelter in a new direction. 

“I think they’ve seen the fox,” replied Stout- 
heart. 

“ Seen the fox ! why, I forgot all about the fox ! 
But — but haven’t we seen it before ? haven’t we 
been after it all day V 9 

“ No, we ’ve only got scent of it once or twice.” 

“ Well, well,” exclaimed Queeker, turning up his 
eyes, “ I declare we have had as good fun as if we 
had been after the fox in full sight all the time !” 

“ Here is a somewhat peculiar leap,” said Stout- 
heart, reining up as they approached a fence, on the 
other side of which was a high-road, “ I ’ll go first, to 
show you the way.” 

The peculiarity of the leap lay in the fact that it 
was a drop of about four feet into the road, which 
was lower, to that extent, than the field, and that the 
side of the road into which the riders had to drop 
was covered with scrubby bushes. To men accus- 
tomed to it this was a trifle. Most of the field had 
already taken it, though a few cautious riders had 
gone round by a gate. 


228 


TI1E FLOATING LIGHT 


When Queeker came to try it he felt uneasy — 
sitting as he did so high, and looking down such a 
precipice as it seemed to him. However, he shut 
his eyes, and courageously gave the accustomed 
chirp, and Slapover plunged down. Queeker held 
tight to the saddle, and although much shaken, 
would have come out of the ordeal alright, had not 
Slapover taken it into his head to make a second 
spring over a low bush which stood in front of him. 
On the other side of this bush there was an old 
pump. Queeker lost liis balance, threw out his 
arms, fell off, was hurled violently against the old 
pump, and his right leg was broken ! 

A cart was cpiickly procured, and on trusses of 
straw the poor huntsman was driven, sadly and 
slowly, back to Jenkinsjoy, where he was tenderly 
put to bed and carefully nursed for several weeks 
by his hospitable and sympathizing friends. 

Queeker bore his misfoijbune like a Stoic, chiefly 
because it developed the great fact that Fanny 
Hennings wept a whole night and a day after its 
occurrence, insomuch that her fair face became so 
swollen as to have lost much of its identity and all 
its beauty — a fact which filled Queeker with hopes 
so high that his recovery was greatly hastened by 
the contented, almost joyous, manner in which he 
submitted to his fate. 

Of course Queeker’s secret mission was, for the 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


229 


time being, at an end ; — and thns it came to pass that 
an old pump, as we said at the beginning of this 
chapter, was the cause of the failure of several deep r 
laid plans, and of much bodily anguish and mental 
felicity to the youthful Nimrod. 

Queeker’s last observation before falling into a 
feverish slumber on the first night after his accident, 
was to the effect that fox-hunting was splendid sport 
— magnificent sport, — but that it appeared to him 
there was no occasion whatever for a fox. And ever 
after that he was wont to boast that his first and last 
day of fox- hunting, which was an unusually exciting 
one, had been got through charmingly without any 
fox at all. It is even said that Queeker, descending 
from poetry, — his proper sphere, — to prose, wrote an 
elaborate and interesting paper on that subject, which 
was refused by all the sporting papers and journals 
to which he sent it ; — but, this not being certified, 
we do not record it as a fact 


230 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE LAMPLIGHTER AT HOME, AND THREATENING APPEARANCES. 

We turn now to a very different scene— the pier 
and harbour of Ramsgate. The storm-fiend is 
abroad. Thick clouds of a dark leaden hue drive 
athwart a sky of dingy grey, ever varying their 
edges, and rolling out limbs and branches in random 
fashion, as if they were fleeing before the wind in 
abject terror. The wind, however, is chiefly in the 
sky as yet. Down below there are only fitful puffs 
now and then, telling of something else in store. 
The sea is black, with sufficient swell on it to cause 
a few crested waves here and there to gleam in- 
tensely white by contrast. It is early in the day, 
nevertheless there is a peculiar darkness in the 
atmosphere which suggests the approach of night. 
Numerous vessels in the offing are making with all 
speed for Ramsgate harbour, which is truly and 
deservedly named a “ harbour of refuge,” for already 
some two dozen ships of considerable size, and a large 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


231 


fleet of small craft, have sought and found shelter 
on a coast which in certain conditions of the wind 
is fraught with danger. About the stores near the 
piers, Trinity men are busy with buoys, anchors, 
and cables ; elsewhere labourers are toiling, idlers 
are loafing, and lifeboat-men are lounging about, 
leaning on the parapets, looking wistfully out to sea, 
with and without telescopes, from the sheer force of 
habit, and commenting on the weather. The broad, 
bronzed, storm-battered coxswain of the celebrated 
Eamsgate lifeboat, who seems to possess the power 
of feeding and growing strong on hardship and ex- 
posure, is walking about at the end of the east pier, 
contemplating the horizon in the direction of the 
Goodwin Sands with the serious air of a man who 
expects ere long to be called into action. 

The harbour-master — who is, and certainly had 
need be, a man of brain as well as muscle and energy, 
to keep the conflicting elements around him in order 
— moves about actively, making preparation for the 
expected gale. 

Early on the morning of the day referred to, Nora 
Jones threaded her way among the stalls of the 
marketplace under the town- hall, as if she were in 
search of some one. Not succeeding in her search, 
she walked briskly along one of the main thorough- 
fares of the town, and diverged into a narrow street, 
which appeared to have retired modestly into a 


232 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


corner in order to escape observation. At the farther 
end of this little street, she knocked at the door of a 
house, the cleanly appearance of which attested the 
fact that its owner was well-doing and orderly. 

Nora knocked gently ; she did everything gently ! 

“Is Mrs. Moy at home?” she asked, as a very 
bright little girl’s head appeared. 

No sooner was Nora’s voice heard than the door 
was flung wide open, and the little girl exclaimed, 
“ Yes, she ’s at ’ome, and daddy too.” She followed 
up this assurance with a laugh of glee, and, seizing 
the visitor’s hand, dragged her into the house by 
main force. 

“ Hallo, Nora, W are ’ee, gal ?” cried a deep bass 
voice from the neighbourhood of the floor, where its 
owner appeared to be smothered with children, for 
he was not to be seen. 

Nora looked down and beheld the legs and boots 
of a big man, but his body and head were invisible, 
being completely covered and held down by four 
daughters and five sons, one of the former being a 
baby, and one of the latter an infant. 

Dick Moy, who was enjoying his month on shore, 
rose as a man might rise from a long dive, flung 
out his great right arm, scattered the children like 
flecks of foam, and sat up with a beaming counte- 
nance, holding the infant tenderly in his left arm. 
The baby had been cast under the table, where it 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


233 


lay, helpless apparently, and howling. It had 
passed the most tender period of life, and had 
entered on that stage when knocks, cuts, yells, and 
bruises are the order of the day. 

“ Glad to see you, Nora,” said the man of the 
floating light, extending his huge hand, which the 
girl grasped and shook warmly. “ You 11 excuse me 
not bein’ more purlite. I ’m oppressed with child’n, 
as you see. It seems to me as if I ’d gone an’ got 
spliced to that there ’ooman in the story-book wot 
lived in the shoe, an’ had so many child’n she didn’t 
know wot to do. If so, she knows wot to do now 
She’s only got to hand ’em over to poor Dick Moy, 
an’ leave him to suffer the consickences. — Ah, ’ere 
she comes.” 

Dick rose as he spoke, and handed a chair to 
Nora at the moment that his better, but lesser, half 
entered. 

It must not be supposed that Dick said all this 
without interruption. On the contrary, he bawled 
it out in the voice of a bo’sn’s mate, while the four 
daughters and five sons, including the baby and the 
infant, crawled up his legs and clung to his pockets, 
and enacted Babel on a small scale. 

Mrs. Moy was a very pretty, tidy, cheerful little 
woman, of the fat, fair, and forty description, save 
that she was nearer thirty-five than forty. It was 
clear at a glance that she and Dick had been made 


234 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


for each other, and that, had either married anybody 
else, each would have done irreparable damage to 
the other. 

“ Sit down, Nora. I ’m so glad to see you. Come 
to breakfast, I hope ? we ’re just going to have it.” 

Mrs. Moy said this as if she really meant it, and 
would be terribly disappointed if she met with a 
refusal Nora tried to speak, but Babel was too 
much for her. 

“ Silence !” burst from Dick, as if a small cannon 
had gone off in the room. 

Babel was hushed. 

“Mum’s the. word for -three minutes ,” said Dick, 
pointing to a huge Yankee clock which stood on the 
chimney-piece, with a model frigate in a glass case, 
and a painted sea and sky on one side of it, and a 
model light- vessel in a glass case, and a painted sea 
and sky on the other. 

There was profound, wisdom in this arrangement. 
If Dick had ordered silence for an indefinite space 
of time, there would have been discontent, approxi- 
mating to despair, in Babel’s bosom, and, therefore, 
strong temptation to rebellion. But -three minutes 
embraced a fixed and known period of time. The 
result was a desperate effort at restraint, mingled 
with gleeful anticipation. The elder children who 
could read the clock stared eagerly, at the Yankee 
time -piece ; the younger ones who couldn’t read the 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


235 


clock, but who knew that the others could, stared 
intently at their seniors, and -awaited the signal. 
With the exception of hard breathing, the- silence 
was - complete ; the baby being, spell-bound by 
example, and the feeble -remarks of the- infant — 
which had been transferred to the arms of the eldest 
girl— making no impression worth speaking of. 

“You are very kind,” said Nora, * I ’ll stay 
breakfast with pleasure. Grandmother won’t be up 
for an hour yet, and father’s not at home just 
now.” 

“ Werry -good,” said -Dick, taking a short black 
pipe out of his coat-pocket, “ that ’s all. right. And 
’ow do ’ee like -Bamsgate, Nora, now you ’ve had a 
fair trial of it ?” 

“I think I like it better than Yarmouth ; but 
perhaps that is -because we live in a more- airy and 
cheerful street. I would not have troubled you so 
early, Mr. Moy — (“’T ain’t no trouble at all, Nora; 
werry much the reverse”) — but that I am anxious 
to hear how you got on with poor Billy — ” 

At this point Babel burst forth with redoubled 
fury. Dick was attacked and carried by.storm ; the? 
short black .pipe was seized, and an old hat was 
clapped on his head and thrust down over his eyes ! 
He gave in at once, and submitted with resignation. 
He struck his colours, so to speak, without firing a 
shot, and for full live minutes breasted the billows 


236 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


of a sea of-children manfully, while smart Mrs. Moy 
spread the breakfast- table as quietly as if nothing 
were going on, and Nora sat and- smiled at them. 

Suddenly Dick rose for the second time from his 
dive, flung off the foam, tossed aside the baby, 
rescued the infant from impending destruction, and 
thundered “ Silence ! mum ’s the word for three 
minutes more.” 

“ That ’s six, daddy ! ” cried the eldest boy, whose 
spirit of opposition was growing so strong that he 
could not help indulging it, even against his own 
interests. 

“ No,” said Dick sternly. 

“ It was three minutes last time,” urged the boy; 
“ an’ you said three minutes more this time ; three 
minutes more than three minutes is six minutes, 
ain’t it?” 

“ Three minutes,” repeated Dick, holding up a 
warning finger. 

Babel ceased ; the nine pair of eyes (excepting 
those of the infant) became fixed, and Nora pro- 
ceeded— 

“ I wanted to hear how you got on with Billy. 
Did they take him in at once? and what sort of 
place is the Grotto ? You see I am naturally anxious 
to know, because it was a terrible thing to send a 
poor boy away from his only friend among strangers 
at such an age, and just after recovering from a had 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


237 


illness; but you know I could not do otherwise. 
It would have been his -ruin to have — ” 

She paused. 

“ To have -stopped where he . was, I s’pose you 
would say?” observed Dick. “Well, I ain’t sure 
o’ that, Nora. It’s quite true that the bad company 
he’d ’ave seen would /^ave bin against ’im; but to 
'ave you for his guardian liangel might ’ave counter- 
acted that. It would ’ave bin like the soda to the 
hacid, a fizz at first and all square arterwards. 
Hows’ever, that don’t signify now, cos he ’s all right. 
I tuk him to the Grotto, the werry first thing arter 
I ’d bin to the Trinity ’ouse, and seed him cast anchor 
there all right, and — ” 

Again Babel burst forth, and riot reigned supreme 
for five minutes more. At the end of that time 
silence was proclaimed as before. 

“ Now then,” said Dick, “ breakfast bein’ ready, 
place the chairs.” 

The three elder children obeyed this order. 
Each member of this peculiar household had been 
“ told off,” as Dick expressed it, to a special duty, 
which was performed with all the precision of dis- 
cipline characteristic of a man-of-war. 

“ That ’s all right ; now go in and win,” said Dick. 

There was no occasion to appeal to the Yankee 
clock now. Tongues and throats as well as teeth 
and jaws were too fully occupied. Babel succumbed 


238 


THE FLOATING IIGIIT 


for full quarter of an hour, during which period Dick 
Moy related to Nora the circumstances connected 
with a recent visit to London, whither he had been 
summoned as a witness in a criminal trial, and to 
which, at Nora’s earnest entreaty, and with the boy’s 
unwilling consent, he had conveyed Billy Towler. 
We say unwilling, because Billy, during his long 
period of convalescence, had been so won by the 
kindness of Nora, that the last thing in the world he 
would have consented to bear was separation from 
her ; but, on thinking over it, he was met by this 
insurmountable difficulty — that the last thing in the 
world he would consent to do was to disobey her ! 
Between these two influences he went unwillingly 
to London — for the sake of his education, as Nora 
said to him — for the sake of being freed from the 
evil influence of her father’s example, as poor Nora 
was compelled to-admit to herself. 

“ The Grotto,” said Dick, speaking as well as he 
could through an immense mouthful of bacon and 
bread, “ is an institootion which I ’ave reason for to 
believe desarves well of its country. It is an insti- 
tootion- sitoftate in Paddington Street, Marylebone, 
where homeless child’n, as would otherwise come to 
the^gallows, is took in an’ saved— saved not only from 
sin an’ misery themselves, but saved from inflictin’ 
the same on society. I do assure 2/ow,” said Dick, 
striking the table with his fist in his enthusiasm, 


OF TI1E GOODW IN SANDS. 


239 


so that the crockery jumped, and some of the chil- 
dren almost choked by reason of their food going 
down what they styled their “ wrong throats”- I 
do assure you , that it would ’ave done yer^rt 
good to ’ave seed ’m, as I did the day I went there, 
so clean and eomf’r’able and ’appy — no mistake 
about that. Their ’appiness was genoome. Wot 
made it come ;/bme to me was, that I seed there a 
little boy as I ’appened to know was one o’ the 
dirtiest, wickedest, sharpest littlo willains in London 
— a mere spider to look at, but with mischief enough 
to fill a six-fut man to bu’stin’ — an’ there ’ee was, 
clean an’ jolly, lamin’ his lessons like a good un — 
an’ no sham neither, cos *e ’d got a good spice o’ the 
mischief left, as was pretty clear from the way ’ee 
gave a sly pinch or pull o’ the hair now an’ again to 
the boys next him, an’ drawed monkey-faces on his 
slate. But that spider, I wos told, could do figurin’ 
like one o’clock, an’ could spell like Johnson’s Dic- 
tionairy. 

“Well,” continued Dick, after a few moments’ 
devotion to a bowl of coffee, “ I ^nded Billy Towler 
over to the superintendent, tellin’ ’im ’ee wos a ’ome- 
less boy as ’adn’t got no parients nor relations, an’ 
wos werry much in need o’ bein’ looked a£ter. So 
’ee took ’im in, an’ I bade him good-bye.” 

Dick Moy then went on to tell how that the 
superintendent of the Grotto showed him all ovej 


240 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


the place, and told him numerous anecdotes regard- 
ing the boys who had been trained there ; that one 
had gone into the army and become a sergeant, and 
had written many long interesting letters to the in- 
stitution, which he still loved as being his early and 
only “ home that another had become an artillery- 
man ; another a ^nan-of- war’s man ; and another a 
city- missionary, who commended the blessed- gospel 
of Jesus Christ to those very outcasts from among 
whom he had himself been plucked. The superin- 
tendent also explained to his rugged but much inter- 
ested and intelligent visitor that they had a flourishing 
Bagged School in connection with the institution ; 
also a Sunday-school and a “Band of Hope” — 
which latter had been thought particularly neces- 
sary, because they found that many of the neglected 
young creatures that came to them had already been 
tempted and taught by their parents and by publi- 
cans to drink, so that the foundation of that dread- 
ful craving disease had been laid, and those desires 
had begun to grow which, if not checked, would 
certainly end in swift and awful destruction. One 
blessed result of this was that the children had not 
only themselves joined, but had in some instances 
induced their drunken parents to-attend the weekly 
addresses. 

All this, and a great deal more, was related by 
Dick Moy with the wonted enthusiasm and energy 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


241 


of his big nature, and with much gesticulation of his 
tremendous fist — to the evident anxiety of Nora, 
who, like an economical housewife as she was, had a 
feeling of tenderness for the crockery, even although 
it was not her own. Dick wound up by saying that 
if he was a rich man, " 'ee ’d give some of 'is super- 
floous cash to that there Grotto, he would.” 

" Perhaps you wouldn’t,” said Nora. " I 've heard 
one rich man say that the applications made to him 
for money were so numerous that he was quite 
annoyed, and felt as if he was goin' to become 
bankrupt !” 

"Nora,” said Dick, smiting the table emphati- 
cally, " I ’m not a rich man myself, an’ wot ’s more. 
I never 'xpect to be, so I can’t be said to ’ave no 
personal notions at all, d’ye see, about wot they 
feels ; but I ’ve also heerd a rich man give 'is opinion 
on that pint, and I 've no manner of doubt that my 
rich man is as good as your ’n— better for the matter 
of that ; anyway he knowed was wot. Well, 
says 'ee to me, w'en I went an' begged parding for 
axin’ 'im for a subscription to this 'ere werry Grotto 
— which, by the way, is supported by Voluntary con- 
tribootions — 'ee says, ‘Dick Moy,' says 'ee, ‘you’ve 
no occasion for taa^ my parding,' says 'ee. ‘ 'Ere 's 
'ow it is. I 've got so much cash to spare out of my 
hincome. Werry good ; I goes an' writes down a list 
of all the charities. First of all comes the church 


Q 


242 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


— which ain’t a charity, by the way, but a debt 
owin’ to the Lord— ^an’ the missionary societies, an’ 
the Lifeboat Institootion, an’ the Shipwrecked Mar- 
riners’ Society, and such like, which are the great 
National institootions of the country that every Chris- 
tian ought to give a helpin’^and to. Then tbpre ’s 
the poor among one’s own relations and friends ; 
then the hospitals an’ various charities o’ the city or 
town in which one dwells, and the poor of the same. 
Well, arter that’s all down,’ says ’ee, ‘I consider 
w’ich o’ them ere desarves an’ needs most support 
from me ; an’ so I claps down somethin’ to each, an’ 
adds it all up, an’ wot is left over I holds ready for 
chance applicants. If their causes are good I give 
to ’em heartily ; if not, I bow ’em politely out o’ the 
f?ouse. That ’s w’ere it is,’ says ’ee. ‘ An’ do you 
know, Dick Moy,’ says fee, ‘ the first time I tried 
that plan, and put Aown wot I thought a fair liberal 
sum to each, I wos amazed — I wos stunned for to 
find that the total wos so small and left so werry 
much of my spare cash yet to be disposed of, so 
1 went over it all again, and had to double and 
treble the amount to be -given to each. Ah, Dick,’ 
says my rich man, ‘ if people who don’t keep cash* 
books would only mark down wot they think they 
can afford to give away in a year, an’ wot they do 
give away, they would be surprised. It’s not 
always unwillingness to give that ’s the evil. Often 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


243 


it 's ignorance o’ what is actooally given— no account 
bein' kep’/ 

“‘Wot d'ye think, Dick/ ray_rich man goes on to 
eay, ‘ there are some-churches in this country which 
are dependent on the people for support, an' the 
contents o’ the plates at the doors o’ these churches 
on Sundays is used partly for cleanin’ and lightin’ 
of ’em ; partly for payin’ their precentors, and partly 
for repairs to the buildins, and partly for helpin’ 
out the small incomes of their ministers; an’ wot 
d’ ye think most outlie people — not many but most 
of ’em — gives a week, Dick, for such important 
purposes V 

“ ‘ I don* know, sir/ says L 

w * One penny, Dick/ says ’ee, * which comes ex- 
actly to four shillins and fourpence a year/ says ’ee. 
* An’ they ain’t paupers, Dick ! If they wos paupers, 
it wouldn’t be a big sum for ’em to give out o’ any 
pocket-money they might chance to git from their 
pauper friends, but they ’re well-dressed people, Dick, 
and they seems to be well off! Four an’ fourpence 
a year ! think o’ thati?-not to mention the deduction 
w’en they goes for a month or two to the country 
each summer. Four an’ fourpence a year, Dick ! 
Some of ’em even goes so low as a halfpenny, which 
makes two an’ twopence a year — £7, 11s. 8d. in a 
seventy-year lifetime , Dick, supposin’ their liberality 
began to llow the day they wos horn !’ 


244 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“At this my rich man fell to laughing till I 
thought ’ee ’d a busted liisself ; but he pulled up sud- 
den, an’ axed me all about the Grotto, and said it was 
a first-rate institootion, an’ gave me a-ten-pun note 
on the spot. Now, Nora, my rich man is a friend 
o’ yours-^-Mr. Durant, of Yarmouth, who came to 
Kamsgate a short time ago for to spend the autumn, 
an’ I got introdooced to him through . knowin’ Jim 
Welton, who got aboord of one of his -ships through 
knowin’ young Mr. -Stanley Hall, d’ ye see ? That ’s 
where it is.” 

After this somewhat lengthened speech, Dick Moy 
swallowed a slop-bowlful of coffee at a draught —he 
always used a -slop-bowl-^-and applied himself with 
renewed zest to a Norfolk dumpling, in the making 
of which delicacy his wife had no equal. 

“ I believe that Mr. Durant is a kind good man,” 
said Nora, feeding the infant with a_crust dipped in 
milk, “and I am quite .sure that he has. got the 
sweetest daughter that ever a man was blessed with 
— Miss Katie ; you know her, I suppose ?” 

“ ’Aven’t seed ’er yet,” was Dick’s curt reply. 

“She’s a^dear creature,” continued. Nora — still 
doing her -best to .-choke the infant — “ she found 
out where I- lived while she was inrsearch of a sick 
boy in Yarmouth, who, she said, was the brother of 
a poor ragged boy named Billy Towler, she had once 
met with. Of course I had to tell her that Billy 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


245 


had been deceiving her and had no brother. Oh ! 
you should have seen her -kind face, Dick, when I 
told her this. I do think that up to that time she 
had lived under the belief that a young boy with 
a good-looking face and an honest look could not 
be a deceiver.” 

“ Poor thing,” said Dick, with a sad shake of the 
head, as if pitying her ignorance. 

“ Yes,” continued Nora — still attempting to choke 
the infant — “ she could not say a word at that time, 
but went away with her eyes full of tears. I saw 
her often afterwards, and tried to convince her there 
might be some good in Billy after all, but she, was 
not easily encouraged, for her belief in appearances 
had got a shake that she seemed to find it diffi- 
cult to get over. That was when Billy was lying 
ill in hospital. I have not seen much of her since 
then, she and her father having been away in 
London.” 

“ H’m, I ’m raither inclined to jipe her in think- 

f 

in’ that no good Tl come o’ that young scamp. He ’s 
too sharp by half,” said Dick with a frown. “ De- 
pend upon it, Nora, wfen a boy ’as gone a great 
length in wickedness there’s no chance o’ reclaimin’ 
him.” 

"Dick,” exclaimed Nora, with sudden energy, 
"depend upon it that -that ’s not true, for it does 
not correspond with the Bible, which says that our* 


246 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Lord came not to call the righteous but sinners to 
repentance.” 

“ There ’s truth in that , anyhow,” replied Dick, 
gazing thoughtfully into Nora’s countenance, as if 
the truth had come home to him for the first time. 
What his further observations on the point might 
have been we know not, as at that moment the door 
opened and one of his mates entered, saying that he 
had come to go down with him to tho buoy-store, as 
the superintendent had given orders that he and 
Moy should overhaul the old North Goodwin buoy, 
and give her a fresh coat of paint. Dick therefore 
rose, wiped his mouth, kissed the entire family, 
beginning with the infant and ending with “the 
missis,” after which he shook hands with Nora and 
went out. 

The storm which had for some time past been 
brewing, had fairly brewed itself up at last, and the 
wild sea was covered with foam. Although only an 
early autumn storm, it was, like many a thing out of 
season, not the less violent on that account. It was 
one of the few autumn storms that might have been 
transferred to winter with perfect propriety. It 
performed its work of devastation as effectively as 
though it had come forth at its proper season. On 
land chimney stacks and trees were levelled. ^At 
sea vessels great and small were dismasted and 
destroyed, and the east coast of the kingdom was 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


247 


strewn with wreckage and dead bodies. Full many 
a noble ship went down that night ! Wealth that 
might have supported all the charities in London 
for a twelvemonth was sent to the bottom of the sea 
that night and lost for ever. Lives that had scarce 
begun and lives that were all but done, were cut 
abruptly short, leaving broken hearts and darkened 
lives in many a home, not only on the sea-caast but 
inland, where the sound of the great sea’s ^ roar is 
never heard. Deeds of daring were done that night, 
— by men of the lifeboat service and the coast-guard, 
— which seemed almost beyond the might of human 
skill and courage — resulting in lives saved from that 
same great sea — lives yoiu'4 and lives old — the -sal- 
vation of which caused many a heart in the land, 
from that night forward, to bless God and sing for 

joy. 

But of all the wide-spread and far-reaching tur- 
moil ; the wreck and rescue, the rending and relieving 
of hearts, the desperate daring, and dread disasters 
of that night we shall say nothing at all, save in 
regard to that which occurred on and in the neigh- 
bourhood of the Goodwin Sands. 


248 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTEE XV. 

A NIGHT OF WRECK AND DISASTER— THE GULL " COMES TO GRIEF." 

When the storm began to brew tliat nigbt, George 
Welton, tbe mate of tbe floating light, walked the 
deck of bis boiled-lobster-like vessel, and examined 
tbe sky and sea with that critical expression pecu- 
liar to seafaring men, which conveys to landsmen 
tbe reassuring impression that they know exactly 
what is coming, precisely what- ought to be done, 
and certainly what will he the result of whatever 
happens ! 

After some minutes spent in profound meditation, 
during which Mr. Welton frowned inquiringly at 
the dark driving clouds above him, he said, “It 'll 
be pretty stiff.” 

This remark was made to himself, or to the clouds, 
but, happening to be overheard by Jerry MacGowl, 
who was at his elbow, it was answered by that 
excellent man. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


249 


“ True for ye ; it’ll blow great, guns before mid 
night. The sands is showin’ their teeth already.” 

The latter part of this remark had reference 
to brilliant white-lines and dots on the seaward 
horizon, which indicated breakers on the Goodwin 
sands. ^ 

“ Luk at that now,” said J erry, pointing to one of 
those huge clumsy vessels that are so frequently 
met with at sea, even in the present day, as to lead 
one to imagine that some of the shipbuilders in the 
time of Noah must have come alive again and gone 


to work at their old trade on the old plans and draw- 
ings. “ Luk at that, now. Did iver ye see sitch a 
tub — straight up and down the side, and as big at 
the bow as the stern. ,, 

“She’s not clipper built,” answered the mate; 
“ they make that sort o’ ship by the mile and sell 
her by the fathom, — cuttin’ off from the piece just 
what is required. It don’t take long to plaster up 
the ends and stick a mast or two into ’em.” 

“ It ’s in luck she is to git into the Downs before 


the gale breaks, and it ’s to be hoped she has good 
ground-tackle,” said Jerry. 

The mate hoped so too in a careless way, and, 
remarking that he would go and see that all was 
made snug, went forward. 

At that moment there came up the fore-hatch a 
yell, as if from the throat of a North American 


250 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


savage. It terminated in tlie couplet, tunefully 
sung — 

" Oh my ! oh my ! 

0 mammy, don’t you let the baby cry !” 

Jack Shales, following his voice, immediately after 
came on deck. ^ 

“ Have *ee got that work-box done?” asked Jerry 
as his mate joined him. 

“ Not quite done yet, hoy, hut I ’ll get it finished 
after the lights are up. Duty first, -pleasure after- 
wards, you know.” 

“Come now, Jack, confess that you’re makin’ it 
for a pretty girl” 

“ Well, so I am, hut it ain’t for my own pretty 
girl It’s for that sweet little -Nora Jones, who 
came lately to live in Kamsgate. You see I know 
she ’s goin’ to he spliced to Jim Welton, and as Jim 
is a good sort of fellow, I want to make this little 
gift to his future bride.” 

The gift referred to was a well-made work-box, 
such as the men of the floating light were at that 
time, and doubtless still are, in the habit of con- 
structing in leisure hours. It was beautifully inlaid 
with wood of various kinds and colours, and pos- 
sessed a mark peculiarly characteristic of floating- 
light boxes and desks, namely, two flags inlaid 
on the lid — one of these being the Union Jack. 
Most of the men on board displayed much skill 


OF THE GOODWIN SiNDS. 


251 


and taste in the making of those boxes and desks, 
although they were all self-taught, and wrought 
with very simple tools in a not very commodious 
workshop. 

“A great change from yesterday in the look o’ 
things, Jerry,” observed Shales, surveying the Downs, 
where, despite the stiff and ever increasing breeze 
amounting almost to a gale, numerous little pilot- 
boats were seen dancing on the waves, showing a 
mere shred of canvas, and looking out for a job. 
“ Yesterday was all sunshine and calm, with pleasure- 
boats round us, and visitors heaving nobspapers 
aboard. To-day it ’s all -gloom, with gales brewin’ 
and pilots bobbin’ about like Mother Cary’s chickens.” 

“That’s true, Jack,” replied Jerry, whose poetic 
soul was fired by the thought : — 

“ ‘ Timpest an’ turmoil to-day, 

With lots o’ salt*wather an’ sorrow. 

Blue little waves on the say. 

An’ sunny contintment to-morrow.’ 

That ’s how it is, Jack, me boy, all the world over — 
even in owld- Ireland hersilf ; an’ sure if there’s 
^ace to be found on earth it ’s there it ’s to be dis- 
kivered.” 

“ Eight, Jerry, peace is to be discovered there, but 
I 'm afraid it ’s in a very distant future as yet,” said 
Jack with a laugh. 

“ All in good time,” retorted Jerry. 


252 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“Up lights!” called the mate down the hatch- 
way. 

“ Ay, ay, sir,” came in chorus from below. 

Desks and boxes were thrust aside, the winch 
was manned, and the weighty lantern mounted 
slowly to its nocturnal watch-tower. 

Its red eye flashed upon a dark scene. The gloom 
of approaching night was deepened by the inky 
clouds that obscured the sky. Thick fog banks 
came sweeping past at intervals; a cold north-easterly 
gale conveyed a wintry deeling to the air. Small 
thick rain fell in abundance, and every thing attested 
the appropriateness of Jerry MacGowl’s observation, 
that it was “ dirty weather intirely.” 

The floating light was made snug — in other words, 
prepared for action — by having a good many more 
fathoms of her chain veered out, in order that she 
might strain less and swing more freely. Loose 
articles were secured or stowed away. Hatches 
were battened down, and many other little nautical 
arrangements made which it would require a seaman 
to understand as well as to describe in detail. 

As the evening advanced the gale increased in 
violence tenfold, and darkness settled down like an 
impenetrable pall over land and sea. The roar of 
breakers on the Goodwin Sands became so loud 
that it was sometimes heard on board the Gull-light 
above the howling of the tempest. The sea rose 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


253 


bo much and ran so violently among the conflicting 
currents caused by wind, tide, and sand-banks, 
that the Gull plunged, swooped, and tore at her 
cable so that the holding of it might have appeared 
io a landsman little short' of miraculous. Hissing 
and seething at the opposition she offered, the larger 
waves burst over her bows, and swept the deck 
from stem to stem ; but her ample . scuppers dis- 
charged it quickly, and up she rose again, dripping 
from the flood, to face and fight and foil each suc- 
ceeding billow. 

High on the mast, swaying wildly to and fro, yet 
always hanging perpendicular by reason of a simple 
mechanism, the lantern threw out its bright beams, 
involving the vessel and the foam -clad boiling sea 
in a circle of light which ended in darkness pro- 
found, forming, as it were, a bright but ghostly 
chamber shut in with walls of ebony, and revealing, 
in all its appalling reality, the fury of the sea. 
What horrors, lay concealed in the darkness beyond 
no one could certainly know ; but the watch on 
board the Gull could form from past experience a 
pretty good conception of them, as they cowered 
under the lee of the bulwarks and looked anxiously 
out to windward. 

Anxiously ! Ay, there was cause for anxiety 
that night. The risk of parting from their cable was 
something, though not very great ; but the risk of 


254 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


being run down by passing or driving ships during 
intervals of fog was much, greater, and the necessity 
of looking out for signals of distress was urgent. 

It was a night of. warfare, and the battle had 
begun early. Mr. Welton’s record of the earlier 
part of that day in the log ran thus : — 

“ At 4 a.m. calm, with misty rain ; at 8, wind 
south-east, light breeze. At noon, west- south-west, 
fresh breeze and rain. At 4 p.m., wind south-west, 
fresh gale and heavy rain. A large fleet anchored 
in the Downs. A schooner was seen to anchor in a 
bad place-about this time. At 7, wind still increas- 
ing. The watch observed several vessels part from 
their anchors and proceed to Margate Roads. At 
7.30 the wind flew into the nor’-nor’-west, and blew 
a hurricane.” 

These were the first mutterings of the fight that 
had begun. 

It was now about a quarter to eight P.M. Jerry 
and his friend Shales were cowering behind the 
bulwark on the starboard bow, gazing to windward, 
but scarce able to keep their eyes open owing to 
wind and spray. Suddenly a large object was seen 
looming into the circle of light. 

“Stand by !” roared Jerry and Jack, with start- 
ling vigour, as the one leaped towards the tiller, the 
other to the companion-hatch; “a vessel bearing 
down on our hawse !” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


255 


The mate and men rushed on deck in time to see 
a large ship pass close to the bow of the Gull. 
Jack had cast loose the tiller, because, although in 
ordinary circumstances the helm of a light-vessel h 
of no use, this was one of the few occasions in which 
it could be of service. The rush of the tide past a 
ship at anchor confers upon it at all times, except 
during “ slack water” (i.e., when the tide is on the 
turn), the power of steering, so that she can be made 
to sheer swiftly to port or starboard, as may be 
required. But for this power, floating lights would 
undoubtedly be run into more frequently than they 
are. 

The danger being over, the helm was again made 
fast amidships, but as several vessels were soon after 
seen sweeping past — two or three of them burning 
tar- barrels and “ flare-lights ” for assistance, it 
became evident that there would be little or no rest 
for any one on board that night. The mate put on 
his oiled coat, trousers, boots, and sou’wester, and 
remained on deck. 

Between eight and nine o’clock a schooner was 
seen approaching. She came out of surrounding 
darkness like a dim phantom, and was apparently 
making the attempt to go to windward of the -float- 
ing light. She failed, and in a moment was bearing 
down with terrible speed right upon them. 

“ Starboard your helm !” shouted the mate, at the 


256 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


same moment springing to tlie tiller of his own 
vessel 

The steersman of the driving vessel fortunately 
heard and obeyed the order, and she passed— but 
shaved the -bow of the Gull so closely that one of 
the men declared he could easily have jumped aboard 
of herj 

Again, at nine o’clock, there was a stir on board 
the floating light, for another vessel was seen driving 
towards her. This one was a brig. The foremast was 
gone, and the remains of a tar-barrel were still 
burning on her -deck, but as none of the crew could 
be- seen, it was conjectured that some other ship 
must have run foul of her, and they had escaped on 
board of it. All hands were again called, the tiller 
was .cast loose, a wide sheer given to the Gull, and 
the brig went past them at about the distance of a 
ship-length. She went slowly by, owing, it was 
afterwards ascertained, to the fact that she had 
ninety fathoms of cable trailing from her bows. She 
was laden with* coal, and when the Deal boatmen 
picked her up next day, they found the leg of a man 
on her deck, terribly mutilated, as if it had got 
jambed somehow, and been wrenched off ! But no 
one ever appeared to tell the fate of that vessel’s 
crew. 

Shortly before ten, two tar-barrels were observed 
burning in a north-easterly direction. These proved 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


257 


to be tlie signals of distress from a ship and a barque, 
which were dragging their anchors. They gradually 
drove down on the north part of the sands; the 
barque struck on a part named the Goodwin Knoll, 
the ship went on the North sandhead. 

Now the time for action had come. The Good- 
win light- vessel, being nearest to the wrecks, fired 
a signal- gun and sent up a rocket. 

“ There goes the Goodwin /” cried the mate ; “ load 
the starboard gun, Jack.” 

He ran down himself for a rocket as he spoke, 
and Jerry ran to the cabin for the rcd-liot poker, 
which had been heating for some time past in readi- 
ness for such an event. 

“ A gun and a flare to the south-east’ard, sir, close 
to us,” shouted Shales, who had just finished load- 
ing, as the mate returned with the rocket and fixed 
it in position. 

“Where away, Jack?” asked the mate hastily, 
for it now became his duty to send the rocket in 
the direction of the new signals, so as to point out 
the position of the wreck to the lifeboat- men on 
shore. 

“ Due south-east, sir ; there they go again,” said 
Jack, “ not so close as I thought. South sandhead 
vessel signalling now, sir.” 

There was no further need for questions. The 
flash of the gun was distinctly seen, though the 
R 


258 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


sound was not heard, owing to the- howling of the 
hurricane, and the bright flare of a second tar-barrel 
told its own tale, while a gun and rocket from the 
floating light at the South sandhead showed that 
the vessel in distress had been observed by her. 

“ Fire !” cried the mate. 

Jerry applied the poker to the gun, and the scene 
which we have described in a former chapter was 
re-enacted ; — -the blinding flash, the roar, and the 
curved line of light across the black sky ; but there 
was no occasion that night to repeat the signals. 
Everywhere along the coast the salvors of life and 
property were on the alert — many of them already 
in action, out battling in midnight darkness with 
the raging sea. The signal was at once replied to 
from Ramsgate. 

Truly it was a dreadful night; one of those 
tremendous hurricanes which visit our shores three 
or four times it may be in a century, seeming to shake 
the world to its foundations, and to proclaim with 
unwonted significance the dread power of Him who 
created and curbs thn forces of nature. 

But the human beings who were involved in the 
perils of that night had scant leisure, and little in- 
clination, perchance, to contemplate its sublimity. 
The crew of the Gull light were surrounded by 
signals of disaster and distress. In whichever 
direction they turned their eyes burning tar-barrels 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


259 


and other flaring lights were seen, telling their dismal 
tale of human beings in urgent need of assistance or 
in dire extremity. 

Little more than an hour before midnight another 
craft was observed driving down on the hawse of the 
Gull. ( There was greater danger now, because it 
happened to be near the turn of the tide, or “ slack 
water,” so that the rudder could not be used to 
advantage) All hands were once more turned out, 
and as the vessel drew near Mr. Wei ton hailed her, 
but got no reply. 

“Let go the rudder-pendants !” cried the mate as 
he shipped the tiller. 

The order was promptly obeyed, and the helm 
shoved hard a-port, but there was no responsive 
sheer. The sea was at the time currentless. An- 
other moment and the vessel, (which was a large 
deserted brig, - struck the floating, light on the port- 
bow, and her fore shrouds caught the fluke of the 
spare anchor which- projected from the side. 

“An axe, Jerry ; look alive !” 

Jerry required no spur; he bounded forward, 
caught up an axe, and leaped with it into the chains 
of the vessel, which had already smashed part of 
the Gull’s bulwarks and wrenched the iron band Dff 
the cat-head. 

“ Cut away everything,” cried the mate, who ob- 
served that the decks of the brig were full of 


260 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


water, and feared that she might be in a sinking 
condition. 

The other men of the Gull were busy with boat- 
hooks, oars, and fenders, straining every nerve to 
get clear of this unwelcome -visitor, while J erry 
dealt the shrouds a few telling blows which quickly 
cut them through, but, in sweeping past, the main- 
topsail yard-arm of the brig went-crashing into the 
lantern. Instantly the lamps were extinguished, 
and the bright beams of the floating light were 
gone ! The brig then dropt astern and was soon 
lost to view. 

This was a disaster of the most serious nature- 
involving as it did the absence of a light, on the 
faithful glow of which the fate of hundreds of vessels 
might depend. Fortunately, however the extreme 
fury of the gale had begun to abate ; it was there- 
fore probable that all the vessels which had not 
already been wrecked had found ports of shelter, or 
would now be able to hold on to their anchors and 
weather the storm. 

But floating-lights are not left without resource 
in a catastrophe such as this. In the book of Regu- 
lations for the Service it is ordered that, in circum- 
stances of this kind, two red lights are to be shown, 
one at the end of the davit forward, the other on a 
stanchion beside the ensign staff aft, and likewise a 
red flare light is to be shown every quarter of an 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


261 


hour. Accordingly, while some of the men lit and 
fixed up the red lanterns, Jerry MacGowl was told 
off to the duty of showing the red flares, or, as' he 
himself expressed it, “ settin’ oft a succession o’ fire- 
works, which wos mightily purty, no doubt, an’ would 
have bin highly entertainin’ if it had been foin 
weather, and a time of rejoy cm’ !” 

Meanwhile the lantern was lowered, and it was 
found that the only damage done had been the shat- 
tering of one of its large -panes of glass. The lamps, 
although blown out, had not been injured. The 
men therefore set vigorously to work to put in a 
spare pane, and get the light once more into working 
order. 

Leaving them,- then, at this important piece of 
work, let us turn aside awhile and follow tire for- 
tunes of the good ship -Wellington on that terrible 
night of storm and disaster. 

When the storm was brewing she was not far 
from the Downs, but the baffling winds retarded her 
progress, and it was pitch dark when she reached 
the neighbourhood of the Goodwin sands. Never- 
theless those on board of her did not feel much un- 
easiness, because a good pilot had been secured in 
the channel. 

The Wellington came bowling along under close- 
reefed topsails. Stanley Hall and Jim Welton stood 
leaning over the taffrail, looking down into the black 


262 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


foam-streaked water. Both were silent, save that 
now and then Jim put down his hand to pat a black 
muzzle that was raised lovingly to meet it, and 
whispered, “ We shall be home to-morrow, Neptune, 
-^cheer up, old boy V* 

But Jim’s words did not express all his thoughts. 
If he had -revealed them fully he would have de- 
scribed a bright fireside in a small and humble but 
very comfortable Toom, with a smiling face that ren- 
dered sunshine unnecessary, and a pair of eyes that 
made gaslight a paltry flame as well as an absolute 
extravagance. That the name of this cheap, yet 
dear, luminary began with an i\T and ended with an 
a, is a piece of information with which we think it 
unnecessary to trouble the reader. 

Stanley Hall’s thoughts were somewhat on the 
same line of. rail, if we may be allowed the expres- 
sion ; the chief difference being that his luminary 
beamed in a drawing-room, and sang and played and 
painted beautifully — which accomplishments, how- 
ever, Stanley thought, would have been sorry trifles 
in themselves had they not been coupled with a 
taste for housekeeping and domestic economy, and 
relieving as well as visiting the poor, and Sabbath- 
school teaching ; in short, every sort of “ good work,” 
besides an unaccountable as well as admirable pen- 
chant for pitching into the Board of Trade, and for 
keeping sundry account-books in such a neat and 


OF 1HE GOODWIN SANDS. 


263 


methodical way that there remains a lasting blot on 
that Board in the fact of their not having been bound 
in cloth of gold ! 

Ever since his first, visit to Yarmouth, Stanley 
had felt an increasing admiration for Katie Durants 
sprightly character and sterling -qualities, and also 
increasing pity for poor Bob Queeker, who, he 
thought, without being guilty of very egregious 
vanity, had no chance whatever of winning such a 
prize. The reader now knows that the pity thus 
bestowed upon that pitiful fox-hunting turncoat 
was utterly thrown away. 

“ I don’t like these fogs in such dangerous neigh- 
bourhood,” observed Jim Welton, as a fresh squall 
burst upon the ship and laid it over so much that 
many of the passengers thought she was going to 
capsize. “We should be getting near the floating 
lights of the Goodwin sands by this time.” 

"Don’t these lights sometimes break adrift?” 
asked Stanley, “ and thus become the cause of ships 
going headlong to destruction ?” 

“Kot often,” replied Jim. “Considering the con- 
stancy of their exposure to all sorts of weather, and 
the number of light- vessels afloat, it is amazin’ how 
few accidents take place. There has been nothing 
i>f the kind as long as I can remember anything 
about the service, but my father has told me of a 
case where one of the light-vessels that marked a 


*264 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


channel at the mouth of the Thames once broke 
adrift in a heavy gale. She managed to bring up 
again with her spare anchor, but did not dare to 
show her light, being out of her proper place, and 
therefore, a false guide. The consequence was that 
eight vessels, which were making for the channel, 
and counted on seeing her, went on the sands and 
were lost with nearly all hands.” 

“ If that be so it were better to have lighthouses, 
I think, than lightships,” said Stanley. 

“ No doubt it would, where it is possible to build 
’em,” replied Jim, “ but in some places it is supposed 
to be impossible to place a lighthouse, so we must 
be content with a vessel. But even lighthouses are 
are not perfectly secure. I know of one, built on 
piles on a sand -bank, that was run into by a schooner 
and carried bodily away. Accidents will happen, 
you know, in the best regulated families ; but it 
seems to me that we don’t hear of a floating-light 
breakin’ adrift once in half a century-^— while, on 
the other hand, the good that is done by them is 
beyond all calculation ” 

The young men relapsed into silence, for at that 
moment another fierce gust of wind threw the ship 
over almost on her beam-ends. Several of the male 
passengers came rushing on deck in alarm, but the 
captain quieted them, and induced them to return to 
the cabin to reassure the ladies, who, with the chil- 


OF T1IE GOODWIN SANDS. 


265 


dren, were up and dressed, being too anxious to tliink 
of seeking repose. 

It takes courts of inquiry, — formed of competent 
men, who examine competent witnesses and have 
the counsel of competent seamen,— many days of 
anxious investigation to arrive at the precise. know- 
ledge of the when, how, and wherefore of a wreck. 
We do not, therefore, pretend to be able to say 
whether it was the fault of the captain, the pilot, 
the man at the lead, the steersman, the look-out, or 
the. weather, that the good ship Wellington met her 
doom. All that we know for certain is, that she 
sighted the southern light- vessel some time before 
midnight during the great gale, that she steered 
what was supposed to be her true course, and that, 
shortly after, she struck on the tail of the sands. 

Instantly the foremast went by the board, and the 
furious sea swept over the- hull in blinding cataracts, 
creating terrible dismay and confusion amongst 
nearly all on board. 

The captain and first mate, however, retained 
their coolness and self-possession. Stanley and Jim 
also, with several # of the officers on board, were cool 
and self-possessed, and able to render good service. 
While Stanley loaded a small carronade, young 
Welton got up blue lights and an empty tar- barrel. 
These were quickly fired. The South sandhead 
vessels immediately replied, the Gull, as we have 


266 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


seen, was not slow to answer, and thus the alarm 
was transmitted to the shore while the breakers 
that rushed over the Goodwins like great walls of 
snow, lifted the huge vessel like a cork and sent 
it crashing down, again and again, upon the fatal 
sands. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


267 


CHAPTER XVI. 

GETTING READY FOR ACTION. 

Let us turn back a little at this point, an .1 see how 
the watchers on Ramsgate pier behaved themselves 
on that night of storm and turmoil. At the end of 
the east pier of Ramsgate harbour there stands a 
very small house, a sort of big sentry-box in fact, 
of solid stone, which is part and parcel of the pier 
itself — built not only on it but into it, and partially 
sheltered from the full fury of wind and sea by the 
low parapet- wall of the pier. This is the east pier 
watch-house; the marine residence, if we may so 
express it, of the coxswain of the lifeboat and his 
men. It is their place of shelter and their watch- 
tower ; their nightly resort, where they smoke the 
pipe of peace and good fellowship, and spin yarns, 
or take such repose as the nature of their calling 
will admit of. This little stone house had need be 
strong, like its inmates, for, like them, it is frequently 
called upon to brave the utmost fury of the elements 


268 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


-^receiving the blast fresh and unbroken from the 
North Sea, as well as the towering billows from the 
same. 

This nocturnal watch-tower for muscular men and 
stout hearts, small though it be, is divided into two 
parts, the outer portion being the sleeping-place of 
the lifeboat men. It is a curious little box, full of 
oilskin coats and sou’wester caps and sea -boots, and 
bears the general aspect of a house which had been 
originally intended for -pigmies, but had got inhabited 
by giants, somehow, by mistake. Its very diminu- 
tive stove stands near to its extremely small door, 
which is in close proximity to its unusually little 
window. A little library with a scanty supply of 
books hangs near the stove-pipe, as if the owners 
thereof thought the contents had become- somewhat 
stale, and required warming up to make them more 
palatable. A locker runs along two sides of the 
apartment, on the coverings of which stand several 
lanterns, an oil- can, and a stone jar, besides sundry 
articles with an extremely seafaring aspect, among 
which are several pairs of the gigantic- boots before 
referred to — the property of the coxswain and his 
mates. The cork lifebelt, or jacket of the coxswain, 
hangs near the door. The belts for use by the other 
men are kept in an outhouse down among the 
recesses of the pier near the spot to which the life- 
boat is usually brought to embark her crew. Only 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 269 

five of the lifeboat men, called harbour boatmen, 
keep watch in and around the little stone house at 
nights. The rest are taken from among the hardy 
coast boatmen of the place, and the rule is — “ first 
come first served” — when the boat is called out. 
There is never any lack of able and willing hands 
to man the Bamsgate lifeboat. 

Near the low ceiling of the watch-house several 
hammocks are slung, obliging men to stoop a little 
as they move about. It is altogether a snug and 
cozy place, but cannot boast much of the state of its 
atmosphere when the fire is going, the door shut, 
and the men smoking ! 

On the night of the storm that has already been 
described in our last chapter, the coxswain entered 
the watch-house, clad in his black oilskin garments, 
and glittering with salt-water from top to toe. 

“ There will be more work for us before long, 
Pike,” he said, flinging off his coat and sou’ -wester, 
and taking up a pipe, which he began to fill ; “ it 
looks blacker than ever in the nor’-east.” 

Pike, the bowman of the boat, who was a quiet 
man, vigorous in action, but of few words, admitted 
that there was much probability of their services 
being again in demand, and then, rising, put on his 
cap and coat, and went out to take a look at the 
night. 

Two other men sat smoking by the little stove, 


270 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


and talking in lazy tones over the events of the day, 
which, to judge from their words, had been already 
stirring enough. 

Late the night before^ — one of them, said, for the 
information of the other, who appeared to have just 
arrived, and was getting the news— the steam-tug 
and lifeboat had gone out on observing signals from 
the Gull, and had been told there was a wreck on 
the sands ; that they had gone round the back of the 
sands, carefully ^examining them, as far as the east 
buoy, encountering a heavy ground swell, with 
much broken sea, but saw nothing ; that they had 
then gone closer in, to about seven fathoms of water, 
when the lifeboat was suddenly towed over a log — 
as he styled it, a baulk — of timber, but fortunately 
got no damage, and that they were obliged to return 
to harbour, having failed to discover the wreck, 
which probably had gone to pieces before they got 
out to the sands ; so they had all their trouble for 
nothing. The man— appealing by look to the cox- 
swain, who smoked in silence, and gazed sternly 
and fixedly at the fire, as if his mind were wandering 
far away — went on to say, further, that early that 
morning they had been again called out, and were 
fortunate enough to save the-- crew of a ' small 
schooner, and that 4hey had been -looking out for 
and expecting another call the whole day. For the 
truth of all which the man appealed again by look 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


271 


to the coxswain, who merely replied with a slight 
nod, while he continued to smoke in silence, leaning 
his, elbows on his knees, with his strong hands 
clasped before him, sailor fashion, and gazing gravely 
at the fire. Ik seemed as if he were resting his huge 
frame after the recent fatigues to which it had been 
exposed, and in anticipation of those which might 
be yet in store. 

Just then the little door opened quickly, and 
Pike’s dripping head appeared. 

“ I think the Gull is signalling,” he said, and 
vanished. 

The coxswain’s sou’wester and coat were on as if 
by magic, and he stood beside his mate at the end 
of the pier, partly sheltered by the parapet wall. 

They both clung to the wall, and gazed intently 
out to sea, where there was just light enough to 
show the black waves heaving wildly up against the 
dark sky, and the foam gleaming in lurid patches 
everywhere. The seas breaking in heavy masses on 
the pier-head drenched the two men as they bent 
their heads to resist the roaring blast. If it had 
been high water, they could not have stood there for 
a moment. They had not been there long before 
their constant friend, the master of the steam- tug, 
joined them. Straining their , eyes intently in the 
direction of the floating -light, which appeared like a 
little star tossed on the far-off horizon, they observed 


272 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


a slight flash, and then a thin curved line of red fire 
was seen to leap into the chaos of dark clouds. 

“ There she goes !” cried the coxswain. 

“ An’ no mistake,” said Pike, as they all ran to 
get ready for action. 

Pew and to the point were the words spoken. 
Each man knew exactly what was to be done. There 
was no occasion to rouse the lifeboat men on such a 
night. The harbour-master had seen the signal, and, 
clad in oilskins like the men, was out among them 
superintending. The steam-tug, which lies at that 
pier with her fires lighted and banked up, and her 
water hot, all the year round, sounded her shrill 
whistle and cast loose. Her master and mate were 
old hands at the perilous work, and lost no time, 
for wreck, like fire, is fatally rapid. There was no 
confusion, but there was great haste. The lifeboat 
was quickly manned. Those who were most active 
got on the cork lifebelts and leaped in ; those who 
were less active, or at a greater distance when the 
signal sounded, had to remain behind. Eleven stal- 
wart men, with frames inured to fatigue and cold, 
clad in oiled suits, and with lifebelts on, sat on the 
thwarts of the lifeboat, and the coxswain stood on 
a raised platform in her stern, with the tiller- ropes 
in his hands. The masts were up, and the sails 
ready to hoist. Pike made fast the huge hawser 
that was passed to them over the stern of the steam- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


273 


tug, and away they went, rushing out right in the 
teeth of the gale. 

No cheer was given, — they had no breath to spare 
for sentimental service just then. There was no 
one, save the harbour-master and his assistant with 
a few men on duty, to see them start, for few could 
have ventured to brave the fury of the elements that 
night on the spray-lashed pier. In darkness they 
left ; into darkness most appalling they plunged, 
with nothing save a stern sense of duty and the 
strong hope of saving human life to cheer them on 
their way. 


s 


274 


THE FLOAixNG LIGHT 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE BATTLE. 

At first the men of the lifeboat had nothing to do 
but hold on to the thwarts, with the,, exception, of 
course, of the coxswain, whose energies were taxed 
from the -commencement in the matter of steering 
the boat, which was dragged through the waves at 
such a rate by the powerful tug that merely to hold 
on was a work of some difficulty. Their course 
might much more truly be said to have been under 
than over the waves, so constantly did these break 
into and fill the boat. But no sooner was she full 
than the discharging tubes freed her, and she rose 
again and again, buoyant as a cork. 

Those who have not seen this desperate work can 
form but a faint conception of its true character. 
Written or spoken words may conjure up a pretty 
vivid picture of the scene, the blackness of the 
night, and the heaving and lashing of the- waves, 
but words cannot adequately describe the shriek of 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


275 


the blast, the hiss and roar of breakers, and they 
cannot convey the feeling of the weight of tons of 
falling water, which cause the stoutest crafts of 
human build to reel and quiver to their centres. 

The steam-tug had not to contend with the ordi- 
nary straightforward rush of a North Sea storm. 
She was surrounded and beset by great boiling 
whirlpools and spouting cross- seas. They struck her 
on the bow, on the side, on the quarter, on the stern. 
They opened as if to engulf her. They rushed at 
as if to overwhelm her. They met under her, 
thrusting her up, and they leaped into her, crush- 
ing her down. But she was a sturdy vessel ; a 
steady hand was at the wheel, and her weather- 
beaten master stood calm and collected on the 
bridge. 

It is probable that few persons who read the 
accounts of -lifeboat service on the Goodwin sands 
are aware of the importance of the duties performed 
and the desperate risks run by the steam-tug. 
Without her powerful engines to tow it to windward 
of the wrecks the lifeboat would be much, very 
much, less useful than it is. In performing this 
service the tug has again and again to . run into 
shallow water, and steer, in the blackest nights, amid 
narrow intricate channels, where a slight error of 
judgment on the part of her master — a few fathoms 
more to the right or left — would send her on the 


276 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


sands, and cause herself to become a wreck and an 
object of solicitude to the lifeboat crew. “ Honour 
to whom honour is due ” is a principle easy to state, 
but not always easy to carry into practice. Every 
time the steam-tug goes out she runs her full share 
of the imminent risk ; — sometimes, and in some re- 
spects, as great as that of the lifeboat herself, for 
whereas, a touch upon the sand, to which it is hex 
duty to approach as near as possible, would be the 
death-warrant of the tug, it is, on the other hand, 
the glorious prerogative of the lifeboat to be almost 
incapable of destruction, and her peculiar privilege 
frequently to go “ slap on and right over ” the sands 
with slight damage, though with great danger. That 
the death-warrant just referred to has not been 
signed, over and over again, is owing almost entirely 
to the courage and skill of her master and mate, who 
possess a thorough and accurate knowledge of the 
intricate channels, soundings, and tides of those 
dangerous shoals, and have spent many years in 
risking their lives among them. Full credit is 
usually given to the lifeboat, though not too much 
by any means, but there is not, we think, a sufficient 
appreciation of the services of the steam-tug. She 
may be seen in the harbour any day, modestly doing 
the dirty work of hauling out the dredge-boats, 
while the gay lifeboat floats idly on the water to be 
pointed out and admired by summer visitors— thus 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


277 


unfairly, though unavoidably, are public favours 
often distributed ! 

Observe, reader, we are far from holding up these 
two as rivals. They are a loving-brother and sister. 
Comparatively little could be done in the grand 
work of saving human life without the mighty 
strength of the “-big brother;” and, on the other 
hand, nothing at all could be done without the 
buoyant activity and courage of the “ little sister,” 
Observe, also, that although the lifeboat floats in 
idleness, like a saucy little duck, in time of peace, 
her men, like their mates in the “ big brother,” are 
hard at work like other honest folk about the har- 
bour. It is only when the sands “show their teeth,” 
and the floating lights send up their signals, and the 
storm-blast calls to action, that the tug and. boat 
unite, and the men, flinging down the implements 
of labour, rise to the dignity of heroic work with all 
the pith and power and promptitude of heroes. 

As they ploughed through the -foam together, the 
tug was frequently -obliged to ease-steam and give 
herself time to recover from the shock of those heavy 
cross seas. Suddenly a bright flaring light was 
observed in the vicinity of a shoal called the Break , 
which lies between the Goodwins and the shore. It 
went out in a few seconds, but not before the master 
of the tug had taken its bearings and altered his 
course. At the same time signal-guns and rockets 


‘278 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


were observed, both from the North sandhead light- 
vessel and the Gull, and several flaring lights were 
also seen burning on or near the Goodwin sands. 

On nearing the Middle Break . , which was easily 
distinguishable from the surrounding turmoil by the 
intensity of its roar as the seas rolled over it, the 
coxswain of the lifeboat ordered the sail to be 
hoisted and the tow-rope slipped. Pike, who was a 
thoroughly intelligent and sympathetic bowman, had 
all in readiness ; he obeyed the order instantly, and 
. the boat, as if endued with sudden life, sprang away 
on its own account into the broken water. 

Broken water ! who but a lifeboat-man can con- 
ceive what that means? — except, indeed, those few 
who have been saved from-wreck. A chaos of white 
water, rendered ghostly and grey by darkness. No 
green or liquid water visible anywhere ; all froth and 
fury, with force tremendous everywhere. Rushing 
rivers met by opposing cataracts ; bursting against 
each other; leaping high in air from the shock; 
falling back and whirling away in wild eddies, ^seek- 
ing rest, but finding none ! Vain indeed must be our 
attempt to describe the awful aspect, the mad music, 
the fearful violence of “ broken water ” on the Break ! 

In such a sea the boat was tossed as if she were 
a chip ; but the gale gave her speed, and speed gave 
her quick steering power. She leaped over the 
foam, or dashed through it, or staggered - under it, 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


279 


but always rose again, the men, meanwhile, holding 
on for life. Pike was ready in the bow, with an arm 
tightly embracing the bollard, or strong post, round 
which the cable runs. The coxswain’s figure, tower- 
ing high in the stern, with the steering Tackles in 
his hands, leaned forward against a strong strap or 
band fixed across the boat to keep him in position. 

They made straight for the -spot where the flare 
light had been seen. At first darkness and thick 
spray combined prevented them from seeing any- 
thing, but in a few minutes a dark object was seen 
looming faintly against the sky, and the coxswain 
observed with anxious concern that it lay not to lee- 
ward, but to windward of him. 

“ Out oars ! downjwith the sail !” he shouted. 

His voice was very powerful, but it was swept 
away, and was only heard by those nearest to him. 
The order was instantly obeyed, however; but the 
gale was so heavy and the boat so large that head- 
way could-not be made. They could see that the 
wreck was a small vessel on her beam- ends. Being 
to leeward, they could -hear despairing cries dis- 
tinctly, and four or five human beings were seen 
clinging to the side. The lifeboat men strained till 
their sinews wellnigh cracked ; it seemed doubtful 
whether they had advanced or not, when suddenly 
an unusually large wave fell in thunder on the 
Break ; it rushed over the shallows with a foaming 


280 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


head, caught the boat on its crest and carried it far 
away to leeward. 

Sail was again made. A box near the coxswain’s 
feet was opened, and a blue-light taken out. There 
was no difficulty in firing this. A sharp stroke on 
its butt lighted the percussion powder within, and in 
a moment the scene was illumined by a ghastly glare, 
which brought out the blue and white boat distinctly, 
and gave corpse-like colour to the faces of the men. 
At the same time it summoned the attendant 
steamer. 

In a few minutes the tug ran down to her ; the 
tow-rope was taken on board, and away went the 
brother and sister once more to windward of the 
wreck ; but now no wreck was to be seen ! They 
searched round the shoal in all directions without 
success, and finally were compelled to come to the 
conclusion that the same sea which had carried the 
boat to leeward had swept the wreck away. 

With sad hearts they now turned towards the 
Goodwins, but the melancholy incident they had 
just witnessed was soon banished from their minds 
by the urgent signals for aid still seen flaring in all 
directions. For the nearest of these they made at 
full speed. .On their way, a dark object was seen to 
sweep past them across their stern as if on the wings 
of the wind. It was the Broadstairs lifeboat, which 
had already done good service that night, and was 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


281 


bent on doing more. Similarly occupied were the 
lifeboats of Deal, Walmer, and other places along the 
coast. A Deal lugger was also seen. The hardy 
beachmen of Kent fear no storm. They run out in 
all weathers to succour ships in distress, and much 
good service do they accomplish, but their powers 
are limited. Like the steam-tugs, they can hover 
around the sands in heavy gales, and venture gingerly 
near to them ; but thus far, and no farther, may they 
go. They cannot, like the noble lifeboats, dash 
right into the caldron of surf, and dare the sands 
and seas to do their worst ! 

The lifeboat men felt cheered, no doubt, to know 
that so many able hands were fighting around them 
in the same battle, but they had little time to think 
on such things ; the work in hand claimed their ex- 
clusive attention — as it must now claim ours. 

One vessel was seen burning three very large flare 
lights. Towards this the steamer hastened, and 
when as near as prudence would permit her to 
approach the Goodwin sands — something less than 
quarter of a mile — the hawser was again slipped, sail 
was made on the lifeboat, and she once more entered 
the broken water alone. 

Here, of course, being more exposed, it was still 
more tremendous than on the Break. It was a little 
after midnight when they reached the sands, and 
made the discovery that they were on the wrong 


282 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


side of them. The tide was making, however, and in 
a short time there was sufficient water to enable the 
boat to run right over; she. struck many times, but, 
being tough, received no serious damage. Soon they 
drew near the wreck, and could, see that she had 
sunk completely, and that the crew were clinging to 
the jibboom. 

When about fifty yards to windward, the anchor 
was let go, the lifeboat veered down towards the 
wreck, and with much difficulty they succeeded in 
taking off the whole crew of-seven men. Signalizing 
the tug with another blue-light, they ran to leeward 
into deep water, and were again taken in tow ; the 
saved men being with some difficulty put on board 
the tug. They were Dutchmen ; and the poor 
master of the lost vessel could find no words suffi- 
ciently forcible to express his gratitude to the cox- 
swain of the lifeboat. When he afterwards met 
him on shore, he wrung his hand .warmly, and, with 
tears in his eyes, promised never to- forget him. 
“ Me never tinks of you,” said he (meaning the 
reverse), “ so long ’s I live ; me tell the King of 
Holland ! ” 

It is but just to add that the poor fellow faithfully 
redeemed his ill-expressed promise, and that the 
coxswain of the lifeboat now possesses a medal 
presented to him by the King of Holland in acknow- 
ledgment of his services on that occasion. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


283 


Bat the great work Of that night still remained to 
be done. Not far from the light-vessel a flare-light 
was seen burning brightly. It seemed to be well 
tended, and was often renewed. Towards this the 
tug now steered with the little sister in tow. They 
soon came near enough to observe that she was a 
large ship, going to pieces on the sands. 

Slipping the cable once more, the lifeboat gallantly 
dashed into the thickest of the fight, and soon got 
within hail of the wreck. 

Then it was that, for the first time, a ray of hope 
entered the hearts of the passengers of the luckless 
Wellington, and then it was that Jim Welton and 
Stanley Hall, with several young officers, who had 
kept the tar-barrels burning so briskly for so many 
hours, despite the drenching seas, sent up a loud 
thrilling cheer, and announced to the terror-stricken 
women and children that the lifeboat was in sight ! 

What a cry for those who had been for three 
horn’s dashing on the sands, expecting every moment 
that the ship would break up ! The horrors of their 
situation were enhanced by the novelty of their 
sensations ! All of us can realize to some extent, 
from hearsay and from paintings, what is meant by 
billows bursting high over ships’ mast-heads and 
washing everything off the decks, but who that has 
not experienced it can imagine what it is to see 
gigantic yards being whipped to and fro as a light 


284 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


cane might be switched by a strong man, to see top- 
masts snapping like pipe-stems, to hear stout ropes 
cracking like pliant whipcord, and great sails flap- 
ping with thunder- claps or bursting into shreds ? 
Above all, who can realize the sensation caused by 
one’s abode being lifted violently with every surge 
and dropped,, againwith the crashing weight of t\yo 
thousand tons, or meing rolled from side to side so 
that the floor on which one stands alternates between 
the horizontal and perpendicular, while one’s frame 
each time receives a shock that is only too much in 
dread harmony with the desperate condition of the 
mind ? 

“ The lifeboat in sight !” Who at such a time 
would not pray God’s best blessing on the lifeboat, 
on the stalwart men who man it, and on the noble 
Society which supports it ? 

Certain it is that many a prayer of this kind was 
ejaculated on board the Wellington that night, while 
the passengers re-echoed the good news, and hur- 
riedly went on deck. But what an awful-scene of 
dreary desolation presented itself when they got 
there ! The flares gave forth just enough light to 
make darkness visible — ropes, masts, yards, sails, 
everything in indescribable - confusion, and the sea 
breaking over all with a violence that -rendered it 
extremely difficult to maintain a footing even in the 
most sheltered position. 


0* TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


285 


Fortunately by this time the vessel had been 
beaten sufficiently high on the shoal to prevent the 
terrible rolling to which she had been at first sub - 
jected; and as the . officers and seamen vied with 
each other in attentions to the women and children, 
these latter were soon placed in comparative security, 
and awaited with breathless anxiety the arrival of 
the boat. 

In order to keep the flare-lights burning all kinds 
of materials had been sacrificed. Deluged as they 
were continually by heavy seas, nothing but the 
most inflammable substances would burn. Hence, 
when their tar- barrels were exhausted, Stanley Hall 
and his assistants got hold of sheets, table-cloths, 
bedding, and garments, and saturated these with 
paraffine oil, of which, fortunately, there happened 
to be a large quantity on board. They now^ applied 
v themselves with redoubled diligence to the construc- 
tion and keeping alight of these flares, knowing well 
that the work which remained to be done before all 
should be rescued, was of a nature requiring time 
as well as care and courage. 

On rushed the lifeboat through the broken water. 
When almost within hail, the coxswain heard the 
roar of an unusually heavy sea rushing behind 
him. 

“ Let go the fore-sheet,” he shouted, “ and hold on 
for your lives.” 


286 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


The wave— a billow broken to atoms, yet still 
retaining all its weight and motive force — over- 
whelmed the boat and passed on. Before she had 
quite recovered, another sea of equal size engulfed 
her, and as she had been turned broadside on by the 
first, the secondxauglit her in its embrace and carried 
her like the wind bodily to leeward. Her-immense 
breadth of -beam prevented an. upset, and she was 
finally launched into shallower water, where the 
sand had only a few feet of sea above it. She had 
been swept away full quarter of a mile in little more 
than a minute ! Here the, surf was like a boiling 
caldron, but there was not depth enough to admit 
of heavy seas. 

The same sea that swept away the boat carried 
the fore and main masts of the Wellington by the 
board, and extinguished all her lights. 

The boat drove quite two miles to leeward before 
the tug got hold of her again. To have returned to 
the wreck against wind and tide alone, we need 
scarcely repeat, would have been impossible, but 
with the aid of the tug she was soon - towed to her 
old position and again cast loose. 

Once more she rushed into the fight and succeeded 
in dropping anchor a considerable distance to wind- 
ward of the wreck, from which point she veered 
down under her lee, but so great was the mass of 
broken masts, spars, and wreckage — nothing being 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


287 


now left but parts of the mizzen and bowsprit — that 
the coxswain was obliged to pay out 117 fathoms of 
cable to keep clear of it all. *7 p Z ft" 

The difficulty and danger of getting the boat 
alongside now became apparent to the people on the 
wreck, many of whom had never dreamed of such 
impediments before, and their hopes sank unreason- 
ably low, just as, before, they had been raised unduly 
high. 

With great difficulty the boat got near to the 
port quarter of the ship, and Pike stood up ready in 
the bow with a line, to which was attached a loaded 
cane, something like a large life-preserver. 

“Heave !” shouted the coxswain. 

The bowman made a deliberate and splendid 
cast ; the weighted cane fell on the deck of the ship, 
and was caught by Jim Wei ton, who attached a 
hawser to it. This was drawn into the boat, and in 
a few seconds she was alongside. But she was now 
in great danger! The wild waters that heaved, 
surged, and leaped under the vessel’s lee threatened 
to dash the boat in pieces against her every moment, 
and it was only by the unremitting and strenuous 
exertions of the men with boat-hooks, oars, and 
fenders that this was prevented. Now the boat 
surged up into the chains as if about to leap on 
board the ship ; anon it sank into a gulf of spray, or 
sheered wildly to leeward, but by means of the 


288 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


hawser and cable, and a “ spring ” attached to the 
latter, she was so handled that one and another of 
the crew of the wreck were taken into her. 

The first saved was a little child. It was too 
small and delicate to be swung over the side by a 
rope, so the captain asked Jim Wei ton, as being the 
most agile man in the ship and possessed of super- 
abundant animal courage, to take it in his arms and 
leap on board. Jim agreed at once, handed over 
the care of his flare-lights to one of the men, and 
prepared for action. The poor child, which w T as 
about a year old, clung to its mother’s neck with 
terror, and the distracted woman — a soldier’s widow 
— could scarce be prevailed on to let the little one 
out of her arms. 

“ Oh, let me go with him,” she pleaded most 
earnestly, “ he is all that is left to me.” 

“ You shall follow immediately ; delay may be 
death,” said the captain, kindly, as he drew the child 
gently but firmly from her grasp. 

It was securely bound to Jim’s broad bosom by 
means of a shawl. Watching his opportunity when 
the boat came surging up on the crest of a billow 
almost to his feet, and was about to drop far down 
into the trough of the sea, the young sailor sprang 
from the side and was caught in the outstretched 
arms of the lifeboat men. 

It had occurred to Stanley Ilall, just before this 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


285 


happened, that there was every probability of some 
of the passengers falling overboard during the pro- 
cess of being transferred to the boat. Stanley was 
of a somewhat eccentric turn of mind, and seldom al- 
lowed his thoughts to dissipate without taking action 
of some kind. He therefore got into the mizzen chains 
and quietly fastened a rope round his waist, the 
other end of which he tied to a stanchion. 

“ You ’ll get crushed by the boat there,” cried the 
captain, who observed him. 

“ Perhaps not,” was the reply. 

He stood there and watched Jim Welton as he 
leaped. The mother of the child, unable to restrain 
herself, climbed on the bulwarks of the vessel. 
Just as she did so the boat surged up again, — so 
close that it required but a short step to get into her. 
Some of the passengers availed themselves of the 
chance — the poor widow among them. She sprang 
with a cry of joy, for she saw her child’s face at the 
moment as they unbound him from Jim’s breast, 
but she sprang short. Little wonder that a woman 
should neglect to make due allowance for the quick 
swooping of the boat ! Hex t moment she was in 
the boiling foam. A moment later and she was in 
Stanley Hall’s grasp, and both were swept violently 
to leeward, but the rope brought them up. Despite 
darkness and turmoil the quick-eyed coxswain and 
his mate had noted the incident. Pike payed 


T 


290 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


out tlie hawser, the coxswain eased off the spring ; 
away went the boat, and next moment Pike had 
Stanley by the hair. Short was the time required 
for their strong arms to pull him and his burden 
in-board ; and,- oh ! it was a touching sight to wit- 
ness the expressions of the anxious faces that were 
turned eagerly towards the boat, and glared pale 
and ghastly in the flaring light, as her sturdy crew 
hauled slowly up, hand over hand, and got once 
more under the vessel’s lee. 

No sooner were they within reach than another 
impatient passenger leaped overboard. This was 
Jim’s faithful dog Neptune ! Watching his time 
with the intelligence of a human being, he sprang, 
with much greater precision and vigour than any 
human being could have done, and, alighting on 
Pike’s shoulders, almost drove that stout boatman 
into the bottom of the boat. 

Soon the boat was as full as it could hold. All 
the women and children had been got into her, and 
many of the male passengers, so that there was no 
room to move ; still there .remained from twenty 
to thirty people to be rescued. Seeing this, Jim 
seized Neptune by the neck and flung him back into 
the wreck. Catching a rope that hung over the 
side, he also swung himself on board, saying, — 

(t You and I must sink or swim together, Nep 1 
Shove off, lads, and come back as soon as you can.’* 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


291 


The hawser was slipped as he spoke ; the lifeboat 
was hauled slowly but steadily to windward up to 
her anchor. Tons of water poured over her every 
moment, but ran through her discharging tubes, 
and, deeply -loaded though she was, she rose buoyant 
from each immersion like an invincible sea- monster. 

When the anchor was reached, a small portion of 
the foresail was set, and then, cutting the cable with 
one blow of a hatchet, away they went like the 
scudding foam right over the boiling shallows on 
the spit of sand. 

“ Hand out a blue-light there,” cried the coxswain. 

A sharp, blow caused the blue-fire to flare up and 
shed a light that fell strong as that of the full moon 
on the mingled grave, pale, stern, and terrified faces 
in the lifeboat. 

“ Safe !” muttered one of the crew. 

“ Safe V* was echoed in surprise, no doubt, from 
several fluttering hearts. 

As well might that have been said to the hapless 
canoe-man rushing over the Palls of Niagara as to the 
inexperienced ones there, while they gazed, horror- 
struck, on the tumult of mad waters in that sudden 
blaze of unearthly light. Their faith in a trust- 
worthy and intelligent boatman was not equal to 
their faith in their own eyes, backed by ignorance ! 
But who will blame them for lack of faith in the 
circumstances ? Nevertheless, they were safe. The 


292 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


watchful master of the tug,— laying-to off the deadly 
hanks, now noting the compass, now casting the lead, 
anon peering into the wild storm, — saw the light, 
ran down to it, took the rescued ones on board, and, 
having received from the coxswain the information 
that there were “ more coming,” sent them down into 
his little cabin, there to he refreshed and comforted, 
while the lifeboat sheered off again, and once more 
sprang into the “broken water.” So might some 
mighty warrior spur from, the battle-field charged 
with despatches of the highest import bearing on 
the fight, and, having delivered his message, turn on 
his heel and rush back into the whirling tide of war 
to complete the victory which had been so well 
begun ! 

Once more they made for the wreck, which was 
by that time fast breaking up. Eunning right 
before the wind in such an awful gale, it was neces- 
sary to make the men crowd aft in order to keep the 
boat’s head well out of the water. On this occasion 
one or two of the seamen of the Wellington, who 
had been allowed inadvertently to remain in the 
boat, became alarmed, for the. seas were, rolling high 
over the gunwale on each side, and rushing into her 
with such force as to make it a difficult matter to 
avoid being washed out. It was a new sensation to 
these men to rush thus madly between two walls of 
foam eight or ten feet high ! They glanced back- 


OF 1 HE GOODWIN SANDS. 


293 


ward, where another wall of foaming water seemed 
to be curling over the stern, as if about to drop 
inboard. The coxswain observed their looks, and 
knew their feelings. He knew there was no iack ol 
courage in them, and that a little experience would 
change their minds on this point. 

“ Never look behind, lads / 5 he cried ; “ look ahead ; 
always look right ahead . 55 

“Ay, Geordy / 5 remarked one of the men, — a 
Scotchman, — to his mate, “ it ’s rum sailin’ this is. 
I thocht we, was a 5 gaun to the bottom ; but nae 
doot the coxn kens best. It’s a wonderfu 5 boat !’’ 

Having so said, the sedate Scot dismissed his 
anxieties, and thereafter appeared to regard the sur- 
rounding chaos of water with no other feelings than 
philosophic interest and curiosity. 

On nearing the wreck the second time, it was 
found that the tide had fallen so low that they could 
scarcely get alongside. Three times they struck on 
the shoal ; on the third occasion the mizzen-mast 
and sail were blown out of the boat. They managed 
to drop anchor, however, and to veer down under 
the port bow of the Wellington, whence the anxious 
survivors threw ropes to them, and, one after another, 
leaped or swung themselves into the boat. But 
they were so long about it that before all had been 
got out the coxswain was obliged to drop to leeward 
to prevent being left aground. In spite of this, the 


294 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


boat got fast, and now they could neither advance to 
the wreck for the nine men who still remained in 
her, nor push off to rejoin the tug. 

The space between the boat and vessel was crossed 
by such a continuous rush of broken water that for 
a time it was impossible to attempt anything, but as 
the tide fell the coxswain consulted with his bow- 
man, and both agreed to -venture to -wade to the 
wreck, those on board having become so exhausted 
as to be unable or unwilling to make further effort 
to save themselves. 

A cting on this .resolve they with one of their men 
sprang into the raging surf and, staggered to the 
wreck, where they induced two of the crew to leap 
overboard and brought them -safely to the boat. 
Others of the lifeboat crew then joined them and 
four more were rescued.* 

The tide had been at its lowest when this desperate 
work was begun, ^-before it was -finished it had 
turned. This, coupled with the fact that they had 
all been nearly swept away during the last effort, 
and that there was a fresh burst of violence in the 
gale, induced them to wait until the tide should rise. 
When it did so sufficiently, they hauled and shoved 
the boat alongside, and the captain, who was one of 
the three remaining men, made a desperate spring, 

* The coxswain — Mr. Isaac Jarman — who has rendered heroic ser- 
vice in the Ramsgate Lifeboat during the last ten years, has been 
personally instrumental in saving between four and five hundred lives. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


295 


but missed tlie boat and was. whirled away. Pike 
made a grasp at him but jmissed. The coxswain 
seized a life_-buoy and hurled it towards him. It 
fell within his Teach, and it was supposed that he 
had caught it, but they could not be certain. The 
boat was now afloat and bumping violently. If they 
had cut the cable in order to rescue the captain, 
which they could by no means make sure of doing, 
the improbability of being able to return in time to 
save the two remaining men would have been very 
great. It seemed to be life or death in either case, 
so they stuck by the wreck. 

It was grey dawn now, and the wreckage was 
knocking against and around them to such an extent 
that the coxswain began to fear for the safety of his 
boat. Yet he was loath to leave the men to perish. 

“ Jump now, lads!” he cried, sheering up along- 
side, “ it ’s your last chance. It ’s death to all of us 
if we stop longer here !” 

The men sprang together. One gained the side of 
the boat and was saved, the other was swept away. 
He made frantic efforts to gain the boat, but before 
his companion had been got inboard he was out of 
sight, and although the cable was promptly cut and 
the sail set he could not be found. The boat was 
then run down along the sands in search of the 
captain. The coxswain knew well from experience 
that he must certainly have been swept by the 


296 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


current in the same direction # as the wreckage. Ho 
therefore followed this, and in a short time had the 
inexpressible satisfaction and good fortune to find 
the captain. He had caught the life-buoy, and 
having managed to get it under his arms had floated 
about for the greater part of an hour. Though 
nearly dead he was still sensible, and, after being 
well chafed and refreshed with a little rum from the 
coxswain's case-bottle=— provided for occasions of 
this sort — he recovered. 

The great work of the lifeboat had now been 
accomplished, but they could not feel that it had 
been thoroughly completed without one more effort 
being made to save the lost man. They therefore 
ran still farther down the sand in the direction where 
he had been last seen. They followed the drift of 
wreckage as before. Presently the bowman uttered 
a thrilling shout, for, through the turmoil of dashing 
spray, he saw the man clinging to a spar ! 

So unexpected was this happy event that the 
whole crew involuntarily gave vent to a ringing 
cheer, although, in the circumstances, and consider- 
ing the nature of their exhausting work and the 
time they had been exposed to it, one might have 
supposed them incapable of such a burst of enthu- 
siasm. 

In a few moments he was rescued, and now, with 
light hearts, they ran for the tug, which was clearly 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


297 


visible in the rapidly increasing daylight. They 
did not put off time in transferring the saved men 
to the steamer. The big hawser, — their familiar 
bond of attachment, — was made fast to them, and 
away went that noble big brother and splendid little 
sister straight for Eamsgate harbour.* 

But the work of that wild night was not yet 
finished. On their way home they fell in with a 
schooner, the foretopmast and bowsprit of which 
were gone. As she was drifting towards the sands 
they hailed her. No reply being made, the lifeboat 
was towed alongside, and, on being boarded, it was 
found that she was a derelict. Probably she had 
got upon the sands during the night, been forsaken 
by her crew in their own boat^in which event there 
was small chance of any being saved — and had 
drifted off again at the change of the tide. 

Be that as it might, six lifeboat men were put on 
board. Finding no water in her, they slipt her two 
cables, which were hanging from the bow, a rope 
was made fast to the steamer, and she was taken 
in tow. 

* If the reader should desire to know something more of the history 
of the celebrated Ramsgate lifeboat, which, owing to its position, 
opportunities, and advantages, has had the most stirring career of all 
the lifeboat fleet, we advise the perusal of a work (at present in the 
press, if it be not already published) named Storm Warriors, or the 
Ramsgate Lifeboat and the Goodvnn Sands, by the Rev. John Gil- 
more, whose able and thrilling articles on the lifeboat- service in 
inillan's Magazine are well known. 


298 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


It was drawing towards noon when they neared 
the .harbour. Yery different indeed was the aspect 
of things there -then from what it had been when 
they went out on their errand of mercy thirteen 
hours before. Although the gale was still blowing 
fresh it had moderated greatly. The black clouds 
no longer held possession of the sky, but- were 
pierced, scattered, and gilded, as they were rolled 
away, by the victorious sun. The sea still raged and 
showed its white “ teeth ” fiercely, as if its spirit had 
been too much roused to be easily appeased; but 
blue sky. appeared in patches everywhere ; the rain 
had ceased, and the people of the town and visitors 
swarmed out to enjoy the returning sunshine, inhale 
the fresh sea-breeze, and await, anxiously, the return 
of the lifeboat — for, of course, every one in the town 
was aware by that time that she had been out all 
night. 

When, at length, the smoke of the “ big brother” 
was observed drawing near, the people flocked in 
hundreds to the piers and cliffs. Wherever a point 
of vantage was to be had, dozens of spectators 
crowned it. Wherever a point of danger was to be 
gained, daring spirits — chiefly in the shape of small 
boys — took it by storm, in absolute contempt of the 
police. “ Jacob’s Ladder” — the cliff staircase — was 
crowded from top to bottom. The west pier was 
rendered invisible to its outer extremity by human 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


299 


beings. The east pier, as far as it was dry, was 
covered by the fashion and beauty — as well as by 
the fishy and tarry— of the town. Beyond the point 
of dryness it was more or less besieged by those 
who were reckless, riotous, and ridiculously fond of 
salt-water spray. The yards and shrouds of the 
crowded and much damaged shipping in the har- 
bour were manned, and the windows of the town 
that commanded the sea were filled with human 
faces. An absolute battery of telescopes, like small 
artillery, was levelled at the approaching tug. 
Everywhere were to be seen and heard evidences of 
excitement, anxiety, and expectation. 

It was not long before it was announced that flags 
were seen flying at the mast-heads of the tug and 
lifeboat — a sure evidence that a rescue had been 
successfully accomplished. This caused many a 
burst of cheering from the crowds, as the fact and 
its import became gradually known. But these 
were as nothing compared with the cheers that arose 
when the steamer, with the lifeboat and the schooner 
in tow, drew near, and it could be seen that there 
were many people on board — among them women 
and children. When they finally surged past the 
pier- head on the crest of a tremendous billow, and 
swept into the harbour under a vast shower of 
spray that burst over the pier and rose above the 
mast-heads of the shipping within — as if to pour 


300 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


a libation on the gallant crews — then a succession 
of cheer*, that cannot be described, welcomed the 
victors and re-echoed from the chalk-cliffs, to be 
caught up and sent out again and again in thrilling 
cadence on the mad sea, which had thus been plun- 
dered of its booty and disappointed of its prey ! 

Scarfs and hats and kerchiefs and hands were 
waved in wild enthusiasm, strangely mingled with 
tender pity, when the exhausted women and chil- 
dren and the worn-out and battered lifeboat-men 
were landed. Many cheered, no doubt, to think of 
the strong hearts and invincible courage that dwelt in 
the breasts of Britain’s sons ; while others, — tracing 
things at once to their true source, — cheered in 
broken tones, or were incompetent to cheer at all, 
when they thought with thankfulness of Britain’s 
faith in the Word of God, which, directly or indi- 
rectly, had given that courage its inspiration, and 
filled those hearts with fire. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


301 


CHAPTEB XVIII. 

SHOWS THAT THERE ARE NO EFFECTS WITHOUT ADEQUATE OAUSES. 

There were not a few surprising and unexpected 
meetings that day on Bamsgate pier. Foremost 
among the hundreds who pressed forward to shake 
the lifeboat-men by the hand, and to sympathize 
with and congratulate the wrecked and rescued 
people, was Mr. George Durant. It mattered nothing 
to that stout enthusiast that his hat had been swept 
away into hopeless destruction during his frantic 
efforts to get to the front, leaving his polished head 
exposed to the still considerable fury of the blast 
and the intermittent violence of the sun ; and it 
mattered, if possible, still less that the wreck turned 
out to be one of his own vessels ; but it was a matter 
of the greatest interest and amazement to him to 
find that the first man he should meet in the crowd 
and seize in a hearty embrace, was his young friend, 
Stanley Hall. 

“What, Stanney !” he exclaimed in unmitigated 
surprise ; “ is it — can it be ? Prodigious sight !” 


302 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


The old gentleman could say no more, hut con- 
tinued for a few seconds to wring the hands of his 
young friend,, gaze in his face, and vent himself in 
gusts of surprise and bursts of tearful laughter, to 
the great interest and amusement of the bystanders. 

Mr. Durant’s inconsistent conduct may be partly 
accounted for and excused by the fact that Stanley 
had stepped on the pier with no other garments on 
than a pair of trousers and a shirt, the former having 
a large rent on the right knee, and the latter being 
torn open at the breast, in consequence of the violent 
removal of all the buttons when its owner was dragged 
into the lifeboat. As, in addition to this, the young 
man’s dishevelled hair did duty for a cap, and his 
face and hands were smeared with oil and tar from 
the flare-lights which he had assisted to keep up so 
energetically, it is not surprising that the first sight 
of him had a powerful effect on Mr. Durant. 

“ Why, Stanney,” he said at length, “ you look as 
if you were some strange sea-monster just broke 
loose from Neptune’s menagerie !” 

Perhaps this idea had been suggested by the rope 
round Stanley’s waist, the cut end of which still 
dangled at his side, for Mr. Durant took hold of it 
inquiringly. 

“ Ay, sir,” put in the coxswain, who chanced to be 
near him, “that bit of rope is a scarf of honour ; 
He saved the life of a soldier’s widow with it.” 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


303 


There was a tendency to cheer on the part of the 
bystanders who heard this. 

“ God bless you, Stanney, my boy ! Come and get 
dressed,” said the old gentleman, suddenly seizing 
his friend’s arm and pushing his way through the 
crowd, “ come along ; oh, don’t talk to me of the 
ship. I know that it’s lost; no- matter — you are 
saved. And do you come along with us Wei — Wei 
— what’s the name of — ? Ah! Welton — come; 
my daughter is here somewhere. I left her near 
the parapet. Never mind, she knows her way 
home.” 

Katie certainly was there, and when, over the 
heads of the people — for she had mounted with 
characteristic energy on the parapet, assisted by 
Queeker and accompanied by Fanny Hennings— she 
beheld Stanley Hall -in such a plight, she felt a dis- 
position to laugh and cry and faint all at once. She 
resisted the tendency, however, although the expres- 
sion of her face and her rapid change of colour in- 
duced Queeker with anxious haste to throw out his 
arms to catch her. 

“ Ha !” exclaimed Queeker, “/ knew it /” 

What Queeker knew he never explained. It may 
have had reference to certain suspicions entertained 
in regard to the impression made by the young 
student on Katie the night of their first meeting ; 
we cannot tell, but we know that he followed up the 


304 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


exclamation with the muttered remark, “ It was for- 
tunate that I pulled up in time.” 

Herein Queeker exhibited the innate tendency 
of the human heart to deceive itself. That furious 
little poetical fox-hunter had, by his own confession, 
felt the pangs of a guilty conscience in turning, just 
because he could not help it, from Katie to Fanny, 
yet here he was now basely and coolly taking credit 
to himself for having “pulled up in time !” 

“Oh, look at the dear little children!” exclaimed 
Fanny, pointing towards a part of the crowd where 
several seamen were carrying the rescued and still 
terrified little ones in their strong arms, while others 
assisted the women along, and wrapped dry shawls 
round them. 

“ How dreadful to think,” said Katie, making a 
hard struggle to suppress her- agitation, “ that all 
these would have been lost but for the lifeboat ; and 
how wonderful to think that some of our own friends 
should be among them ! ” 

“Ay, there be. many more besides these saved last 
night, miss,” remarked a sturdy old boatman who 
chanced to be standing beside her. “ All along the 
east coast the lifeboats has bin out, miss, you may 
be sure; and they don’t often shove off without 
bringin’ somethin’ back to show for their pains, 
though they don’t all ’ave steamers for to tug ’em 
out. There ’s the Broadstairs boat, now ; I ’ve jist 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


305 


heerd she was out all night an* saved fifteen lives; 
an' the Walmer and Deal boats has fetched in a lot, 
I believe, though we han’t got paiticklers yet.” 

Besides those whom we have mentioned as gazing 
with the crowd at the arrival of the lifeboat, Morley 
Jones, and Nora, and Billy Towler were there. 
Jones and Billy had returned from London together 
the night before the storm, and, like nearly every 
one else in the town, had turned out to witness the 
arrival of the lifeboat. 

Dick Moy also was there, and that huge lump of 
good-nature spent the time in making sagacious re- 
marks and wise comments on wind and weather, 
wrecks and rescues, in a manner that commanded 
the intense admiration of a knot of visitors who 
happened to be near him, and who regarded him as 
a choice specimen — a sort of type — of the British 
son of Neptune. 

“This is wot I says,” observed Dick, while the 
people were landing, “ so long as there ’s ’ope,. ’old on. 
Never say die, and never give in ; them ’s my senti- 
ments. ’Cause why ? no one never knpws wot may 
turn up. If your ship goes down ; w*yv wot then ? 
Strike out, to be sure. P’raps you may be picked 
up afore long. If sharks is near, p’r’aps you may 
be picked down. You can never tell. If you gets 
on a shoal/ wol then? w’y, stick to the ship till a 
lifeboat comes off to ’ee. Don’t never go for to take 


U 


30 G 


TIIK FLOATING LIGHT 


to your own boats. If yo u do- cap size, an' Davy 
Jones's lock or is the word, II tlie lifeboat can’t git 
alongside; w’y, wait till it can. If it can’t; w’y, it 
can only be said that it couldn’t. No use cryin’ 
over spilt milk, yon know. Not Unit I cares for 
mil lc. It don’t keep at sea, d’ye see; an ’h only lit 
for babbys. If the lifeboat capsizes; w’y, then, 
owin’ to her perfection o’ build, h!io rights again, an’ 
you, ’livin’ on cork jackets, p’raps, gits into ’or by 
the lifelines, all handy. If you ’nven’t got no cork 
jackets on, w’y, them that 1ms ’ll pick Vo up. If not, 
it’s like enough you’ll go down. Hut no matter, 
you’ve did yer host, an’ man, woman, or child can 
do no more. You can only die once, d’ye see?" 

Whether the admiring audience did or did not soe 
the full force of these remarks, they undoubtedly saw 
enough in the gigantio tar to esteem him a marvel 
of philosophic wisdom. Judging by their looks that 
he was highly appreciated, if Is just possible flint 
Dick Moy might have been tempted to extend his 
discourse, Imd not a move iu the crowd showed a 
general tendency towards dispersion, the resound 
people having been removed, hoiuo to the Sailor’s 
Home, others to tho residences of hospitable people 
in tho town. 

Now, it must not he imagined flmt nil those olm 
meters in our tale have been Hum brought together, 
merely at our pleasure, without rhyme or reason, 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


307 


and in utter disregard of the law of probabilities. 
By no means. 

Mr. Bobert Queeker had started for.Bamsgate, as 
the reader knows, on a secret mission, which, as is 
also welt known, was somewhat violently interrupted 
by the sporting tendencies of that poetical law- 
clerk ; but no sooner did Queeker recover from his 
wounds than— ^with the irresistible ardour of a Wel- 
lington, or a -Blucher, or a bull-dog, or a boarding- 
school belle -^-he returned to the charge, made out 
his intended visit, set his traps, baited his lines, 
fastened his snares, and whatever else appertained to 
his secret mission, so entirely to the- satisfaction of 
Messrs. Merryheart and Dashope,-that these- estim- 
able men resolved, some time afterwards, to send 
him back again to the scene of his labours, to push 
still further the dark workings of his mission. Elate 
with success the earnest Queeker prepared to go. 
Oh, what joy if she would only go with him ! 

"And why not?” cried Queeker, starting up when 
this thought struck him, as if it had struck him too 
hard and he were about to retaliate, — “ Why not ? 
That is the question.” 

He emphasized that as if all other questions, 
Hamlet’s included, sank into insignificance by con- 
trast. 

“ Only last night,” continued Queeker to himself, 
still standing bolt upright in a frenzy of inspiration, 


308 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


and running his fingers fiercely through jiis hair, so 
as to make it stand bolt upright too — “ only last 
night I heard old Durant say he could not make up 
his mind where to go to spend the autumn this year. 
Why not .Ramsgate ? why not Eamsgate ? 

“ Its chalky cliffs, and yellow sand, 

And rides, and walks, and weather, 

Its windows, which a view command 
Of everything together. 

“ Its pleasant walks, and pretty shops, 

To fascinate the belles. 

Its foaming waves, like washing-slops. 

To captivate the swells. 

“ Its boats and boatmen, brave and true. 

Who lounge upon the jetty, 

And smile upon the girls too— 

At least when they are pretty. 

“ Oh ! Ramsgate, where in all the earth, 

Beside the lovely sea, 

Can any town of note or worth 
Be found to equal thee ? 

Nowhere !”- said Queeker, bringing his fist down on 
the table with a force that made the ink leap, when 
he had finished these verses — verses, however, which 
cost him two hours and a profuse perspiration to 
produce. 

It was exactly a quarter to eight p.m. by the 
Yarmouth custom-house clock, due allowance beintf 
made for variation, when this “ Nowhere !” was 
uttered, and it was precisely a quarter past nine P.M. 
that day week when the Durants drove up to the 
door of the Fortress Hotel in Eamsgate, and ordered 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


309 


beds and tea,^-so powerful was the influence of a 
great mind when brought to hear on Fanny Hennings, 
who exercised irresistible influence over the good- 
natured Xatie, whose power over her indulgent 
father was absolute ! 

Hot less natural was the presence, in* Eamsgate, 
of -Billy Towler. We have already mentioned that, 
for peculiarly^crooked ends of his own, Morley Jones 
had changed his abode to Eamsgate — his country 
abode, that is. His headquarters and town depart- 
ment continued as before to flourish in Gravesend, 
in the form of a- public-house, which had once 
caught fire at a time, strange to say, when the spirit 
and beer casks were all nearly empty, a curious fact 
which the proprietor alone was aware of, but thought 
it advisable not to-mention when he went to receive 
the £200 of insurance which had been effected on 
the -premises a few weeks before ! It will thus be 
seen that Mr. Jones’s assurance, in the matter of 
dealing with, insurance, was considerable. 

Having taken up his temporary abode, then, in 
Eamsgate, and placed his mother and daughter 
therein as permanent residents, Mr. Jones com- 
menced such a close investigation as to the sudden 
disappearance of his ally Billy, that he 'wormed out 
of the unwilling but helpless Hora not only what 
had become of him, but the name and place of his 
habitation. Having accomplished this, he dressed 


310 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


himself in a blue nautical suit with brass outtons, 
took the morning train to London, and in due course 
presented himself at the door of the Grotto, where 
he requested^permission to see the -boy Towler. 

The request being, granted, he was shown into a 
room, and Billy was soon after let in upon him. 

“ Hallo ! young Walleye, why, what ever has come 
over you?” he exclaimed in great surprise, on observ- 
ing that Billy’s face was clean, in which condition 
he had never before seen it, and his hair brushed, an 
extraordinary novelty ; and, most astonishing of all, 
that he wore -unragged garments. 

Billy, who, although outwardly much altered, had 
apparently lost none of his hearty ways and sharp 
intelligence, stopped short in the middle of the room, 
thrust both hands deep into his trousers pockets, 
opened his eyes very wide, and gave vent to a low 
prolonged whistle. 

“ What game may you be up to ?” he said, at the 
end of the musical prelude. 

“You are greatly improved, Billy,” said Jones, 
holding out his hand. 

“ I ’m not' kweer,” replied the boy, drawing back 
“ as I ’ve got to thank . you for it.” 

“ Come, Billy, this ain’t friendly, is it, after all 
I’ve done for you?” said Jones, demonstratively ; “I 
only want you to come out an’.’ave a talk with me 
about things, an’ I ’ll give ’ee a swig o’ beer or what- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


311 


ever you take a fancy to. You ain’t goin* to sliow 
tlie white feather and become a- milksop, are you?” 

“ Now, look. here, Mister Jones,” said the boy, 
with an air of decision that there was no mistaking, 
as he .retreated nearer to the door ; “ I don’t want 
for to have nothin’, more to do with you, I ’ve see’d 
much more, than enough of ’ee. You knows me 
pretty well, an’ you knows that wotiver else I may 
be, I ain’t a Jiippercrite. I knows enough o’ your 
doin’s to make you look pretty blue if I like, but for 
reasons of my own, wot you ’ve got nothink to do 
with, I don’t>mean to peach. All I ax is, that you 
goes your .way an’ let me alone. That ’s where it is. 
The people here seem to ’ave got a notion that I ’ve 
got a. soul as well as a body, and that it ain’t ’xactly 
sitch a worthless thing as to be never thought of, and 
throw’d away like an old shoe. They may be wrong, 
and they may be right, but I ’m inclined to agree 
with ’em. Let me tell ’ee that you ’ave did more 
than anybody else to show me the evil of wicked 
ways, so you needn’t stand there grinnin’ like a 
rackishoot wi’ the toothache. I ’ve jined the Band 
of Hope, too, so I don’t want none o’ your beer nor 
nothin’ else, an’ if you offers to lay hands on me, I ’ll 
yell out like a she-spurtindeel, an’ bring in the 
guv’nor, wot ’s fit to wollop six o’ you any day with 
his left hand.” 

This last part of Billy’s speech was made with 


312 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


additional fire, in consequence of Moiley Jones 
taking a step towards him in anger. 

* Well, hoy,” he said, sternly, “ hypocrite or not, 
you've learned yer lesson pretty pat, so you may 
do as you -please. It ’s little that a chip like you 
could do to get me convicted on anything you've 
seen or heard as yet, an’ if ye did succeed, it would 
only serve to give yourself a lift on the way to the 
gallows. But it wasn’t to trouble myself about you 
and your wishes that I came here for (the wily 
rascal assumed an air and tone of indifference at 
this point) ; if you had only waited to hear what I ’d 
got to say, before you began to spit fire, you might 
have saved your breath. The fact is that my Nora 
is very ill— so ill that I fear she stands a poor chance 
o' gittin’ better. I'm goin’ to send her away on a 
long sea voyage. P’r’aps that may do her good ; if 
not, it 's all up with her. She begged and prayed 
me so earnestly to come here and take you down to 
see her before she goes, that I could nobrefuse her — 
particularly as I happened to have business in London 
anyhow. If I ’d known how you would take it, I 
would have saved myself the trouble of cornin'. 
However, I ’ll bid you good- day now.” 

“Jones,” said the boy -earnestly, “ that's a lie.” 

“ Very good,” retorted the man, putting on his hat 
carelessly, “ 1 11 take back that message with your 
compliments— eh ?” 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


313 


“No; but,” said Billy, almost whimpering with 
anxiety, “ is Nora really ill ?” 

" I don’t. wish you to come if you don’t went to,” 
replied Jones ; “you can stop here till doomsday for 
me. But do you suppose I ’d come here for the mere 
amusement of Bearing you give me the lie ?” 

“I’lLgo!” said 'Billy, with as much emphasis as 
he had previously expressed on declining to go. 

The matter was soon explained to the manager of 
the Grotto. Mr. Jones was so plausible, and gave 
such unexceptionable references, that it is no dis- 
paragement to the penetration of the superintendent 
of that day to say that he was deceived. The result 
was, as we have shown, that Billy ere long found 
his way to Bamsgate. 

When Mr. Jones, introduced him ceremoniously to 
Nora, he indulged in a prolonged and hearty fit of 
laughter. Nora gazed at Billy with a look of intense 
amazement, and Billy stared at Nora with a very 
mingled expression of- countenance, for he at once 
saw. through the deception that had been practised 
on him, and fully appreciated the- difficulty of his 
position— his powers of explanation being hampered 
by a. warning, given him long ago by his friend Jim 
Welton, that he must be careful how he let Nora 
into the full-knowledge of her father’s wickedr.ess. 


314 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTER XIX. 

CONFIDENCES AND CROSS PURPOSES. 

Katie Durant, sitting with a happy smile on her 
fair face, and good-will in her sweet heart to all man- 
kind — womankind included, which says a good deal 
for her — was busy with a beautiful sketch of a 
picturesque watermill, meditating on the stirring 
scene she had so recently witnessed, when a visitor 
was announced. 

“ Who can it he ?” inquired Katie ; “ papa is out, 
you know, and no one can want me.” 

The lodging-house keeper, Mrs. Cackles, smiled at 
the idea of no one wanting Katie, knowing, as she 
did, that there were at least , twenty people who 
would have given all they were worth in the world 
to possess her, either in the form of wife, sister, 
daughter, friend, governess, or companion. 

“Well, miss, she do wants you, and says as no 
one else will do.” 

“ Oh, a lady, please show her in, Mrs. Cackles.” 

“ Well, she ain’t a lady, either, though I ’ve seen 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


315 


many a lady as would give their weight in gold to 
be. like her.” 

So saying the landlady departed, and in a few 
seconds introduced- Nora 

“ Miss Jones !” cried Katie, rising with a pleased 
smile and -holding out her hand ; “ this is a very 
unexpected' pleasure.” 

“ Thank you, Miss Durant. I felt sure you 
would remember me,” said Nora, taking a seat, “and 
I also feel sure that you will -assist me with your 
advice in a matter of some difficulty, especially as 
it relates to the boy about whose sick brother you 
came to me at Yarmouth some time ago — you re- 
member ?” 

“ Oh ! Billy Towler,” exclaimed Katie, with anima- 
tion ; “ yes, I --remember ; you are right in expect- 
ing me to be interested in him. Let me hear all 
about it.” 

Hereupon Nora gave Katie an insight into much 
of Billy To wler’s history, especially dwelling on that 
part of it which related to his. being sent to the 
Grotto, in the hope of saving him from the evil in- 
fluences that were brought to bear upon him in his 
intercourse with her father. 

“Not,” she said, somewhat anxiously, “that I 
mean you to suppose my dear father teaches him 
anything that is wicked ; but his business leads him 
much among bad men — and — they drink and smoke, 


316 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


you know, which is very bad for a young boy to see ; 
and many of them are awful swearers. Now, poor 
Billy has been induced to leave the Grotto and to 
come down here, for what purpose I don’t know ; but 
I am so disappointed, because I had hoped he would 
not have got tired of it so soon ; and what distresses 
me most is, that he does not speak all his mind to 
me ; I can see that, for he is very fond of me, and 
did not use to conceal things from me — at least I 
fancied not. The strange thing about it too is, that 
he says he is willing to return to the Grotto imme- 
diately, if I wish it.” 

“ I am very very sorry to hear all this,” said Katie, 
with a troubled air ; “ but what do you propose to 
do, and how can I assist you ? — only tell me, and I 
shall be so happy to do it, if it be in my power.” 

“ I really don’t know how to put it to you, dear 
Miss Durant, and I could not have ventured if you 
had not been so very kind when I met you in Yar- 
mouth ; but — but your father owns several vessels, 
I believe, and — and— you will excuse me referring 
to it, I know— he was so good as to get a situation 
on board of the Wellington — which has so unfor- 
tunately been wrecked — for a young — a — a young 
— man ; one of those who was saved — •” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Katie, quickly, thinking of 
Stanley Hall, and blushing scarlet; “I know the 
young gentleman to whom you refer ; well, go on.” 


0 J TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


317 


u Well,’’ continued Nora, thinking of Jim Welton, 
and Jblushing scarlet too, “ that young man said to 
me that he felt sure if I were to make application 
to Mr. Durant through you, he would give Billy a 
situation in one of his ships, and so get him out of 
harm’s -way.” 

“He was right,” said Katie, with a somewhat 
puzzled expression ; “ and you may rely on my 
doing what I can for the poor boy with papa, 
who is always happy to help in such cases ; but I 
was not aware that Mr. Hall knew either you or 
Billy.” 

“ Mr. Hall !” exclaimed Nora, in surprise. 

“Did you not refer to him just now ?” 

“ No, miss ; I meant James Welton.” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Katie, prolonging that mono- 
syllable in a sliding scale, ranging from low to high 
and back to low again, which was peculiarly sug 
gestive ; “ I beg your pardon, I quite misunderstood 
you ; well, you may tell Mr. Welton that I will be- 
friend Billy to the utmost of my power.” 

The door opened as she spoke, and cousin Fanny 
entered. 

“ Katie, I Ve come to tell you that Mr. Queek — ” 

She stopped short on observing Nora, who rose 
hastily, thanked Katie earnestly for the kind interest 
she had expressed in her little friend, and took her 
leave. 


318 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“Thisjs a very interesting little incident, Fan," 
said Katie with delight when they were alone; 
“ quite a romancelet of real life. Let me see ; here 
is a poor boy — the boy who deceived us, you re- 
member — whom bad companions are trying to decoy 
into the wicked meshes of their dreadful net, and a 
sweet young girl, a sort of guardian angel as it were, 
comes to me and asks my aid to save the boy, and 
have him sent to sea. Isn’t it delightful ? Quite 
the ground- work of a tale — and might be so nicely 
illustrated,” added Katie, glancing at her drawings. 
“But forgive me, Fan; I interrupted you. What 
were you going to tell me?” 

“ Only that Mr. Queeker cannot come to tea to- 
night, as he has business to attend to connected 
with his secret mission,” replied Fanny. 

“ How interesting it would be,” said Katie, musing, 
“if we could only manage to mix up this mission of 
Mr. Queeker’s in the plot of our romance ; wouldn’t 
it? Come, I will put away my drawing for to-day, 
and finish the copy of papa’s quarterly cash -account 
for those dreadful Board of Trade people ; then we 
shall go to the pier and have a walk, and on our 
way we will call on that poor old bedridden woman 
whom papa has ferreted out, and give her some tea 
and sugar. Isn’t it strange that papa should have 
discovered one so soon? I suppose you are aware 
of his penchant for old women, Fan?” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


319 


“ Ko, I was not aware of it,” said Fan, smiling. 

Whatever Fan said, she accompanied with a smile. 
Indeed a -smile was the necessary result of the 
opening of her little mouth for whatever purpose 
— not an .affected smile, but a merry one — which 
always had the effect, her face being plump, of half 
shutting her- eyes. 

“ Yes,” continued Katie, with animation, “ papa is 
so fond of - old women, particularly if they are very 
old, and very little, and thin; they must be thin, 
though. I don’t think he cares much for them if 
they are fat. He says that fat people are so jolly 
that they don’t need to be cared for, but he dotes 
upon the little thin ones.” 

Fanny .smiled, and observed that that was curious. 

“ So it is,” observed Katie ; “ now my taste lies in 
the direction of old men. I like to visit poor old 
men much better than poor old women, and the 
older and more helpless they are the more I like 
them.” 

Fanny smiled again, and observed that that was 
curious too. 

“ So it is,” said Katie, “ very odd that papa should 
like the old women and I should like the old men ; 
but so it is. Now, Fan, we ’ll get ready and — oh how 
provoking ! That must be another visitor ! People 
find papa out so soon wherever we go, and then the} 
give him no rest.” 


320 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ A boy wishes to see you, miss,” said Mrs. 
Cackles. 

“ Me ? ” exclaimed Katie in surprise. 

“ Yes, miss, and he says he wants to see you alone 
on important business.” 

Katie looked at Fanny and smiled. Fanny re- 
turned the smile, and immediately left the room. 

“ Show him in, Mrs. Cackles.” 

The landlady withdrew, and ushered in no less a 
personage than Billy Towler himself, who stopped 
at the door, and stood with his hat in his hand, 
and an unusually confused expression in his looks. 
“ Please, miss,” said Billy, “ you knows me, I think ?” 

Katie admitted that she knew him, and, knowing 
in her heart that she meant to befriend him, it sud- 
denly occurred to her that it would be -well to begin 
with a little salutary severity by way of punishment 
for his former misdeeds. 

“ Last time I saw you, miss, I did you,” said Billy 
with a slight grin. 

“You did,” replied Katie with a slight frown, 
“and I hope you have come to apologize for your 
naughty conduct.” 

“ Well, I can’tr^xactly say as I have come to do 
that, but I'S'essapI may as well begin that way. 
I ’m very sorry, miss, for havin’ did you, an’ I ’ve 
called now to see if I can’t do you again.” 

Katie could not restrain a laugh at the impudence 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


32 ) 


of this remark, but she immediately regretted it, 
because Billy took encouragement and laughed too ; 
she therefore frowned with intense severity, and, 
still remembering that she meant ultimately to 
befriend the boy, resolved to make him in the 
meantime feel the consequences of his former mis- 
deeds. 

“ Come, boy,” she said sharply, " don’t add imper- 
tinence- to your wickedness, but let me know at once 
what you -want with me.” 

Billy was evidently taken aback by this rebuff. 
He looked surprised, and did not seem to know how 
to proceed. At length he put strong constraint upon 
himself, and said, in rather a gruff tone — 

“ Well, miss, I — a — the fact is — you know a gal 
named Nora Jones, don’t you ? Anyhow, she knows 
you, an’ has- said to me so often that you was a 
parfect -angel, that — that — ” 

“ That you came to see,” interrupted Katie, glanc- 
ing at her shoulders, “ whether I really had wings, 
or not, eh ? ” 

Katie said this with a still darker frown ; for 
she thought that the urchin was jesting. Nothing 
was further from his intention. Knowing this, and, 
not finding the angelic looks and tones which he 
had been led to expect, Billy felt still more puzzled 
and inclined to be cross. 

u Seems to me that there ’s a screw loose some- 


x 


322 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


wlieres" said Billy, scratching the point of his nose 
in his vexation. “ Hows’ever, I came here to ax 
your advice, and although you cer’nly don’t ’ave 
wings nor the style o’ looks wot’s usual in ’eavenly 
wisit&s, I’ll make a clean breast of it — so here 
goes.” 

Hereupon the poor hoy related how he had been 
decoyed from the Grotto — of which establishment 
he gave a graphic and glowing account — and said 
that he was resolved to have nothing more to do 
with Morley Jones, but meant to return to the 
Grotto without delay— that-evening if possible. He 
had a difficulty, however, which was, that he could 
not speak freely to Nora about her. father, for fear 
of hurting her feelings or enlightening her too much 
as to his true character, in regard to which she did 
not yet know the worst. One evil , result of this 
was that she had begun to suspect there was some- 
thing wrong as to his own affection for, herself — 
which was altogether a -.mistake. Billy made the 
last remark with a flush of earnest indignation and 
a blow of his small hand on his diminutive knee ! 
He then said that another .. evil result was that he 
could not ^ee his way to explain to JSTora why he 
wished to be off in such a hurry, and; worst of all, he 
had not a sixpence in the world wherewith to pay his 
fare to London, and had no means of getting one. 

u And so,” said Katie, still keeping up her'ficti- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


323 


tious indignation, “ you come to beg money from 
me V* 

“ Not to- beg, Miss — to-borrer .” 

“Ah! and thus to -do me a -second time,” said 
Katie. 

It must not be supposed that Katie’s sympathetic 
heart had suddenly become adamantine. On the 
contrary, she had listened with deep interest to all 
that her youthful visitor had to say, and rejoiced 
in the thought that she had given to her such a 
splendid opportunity of doing good and frustrating 
evil ; but the little spice of mischief in her cha- 
racter induced her still to keep up the- fiction of 
being suspicious, in order to give Billy a salutary 
lesson. In addition to this, she had not quite got 
over the supposed insult of being mistaken for an 
angel ! She therefore declined, in the meantime, 
to advance the required sum— ten-and-sixpence — 
although the boy earnestly promised to repay her 
with his first earnings. 

“ No,” she said, with a gravity which she found 
it difficult to maintain, “ I cannot give you such a 
sum until I have seen and consulted with my father 
on the subject; but I may tell you that I -respect your 
sentiments regarding Nora and your intention to for- 
sake your evil ways. If you will call here again in 
the evening I will see what can be done for you.” 

Saying this, and meditating in her heart that she 


324 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


would not only give Billy tlie ten-and-sixpence to 
enable him to return to the Grotto, hut would in- 
duce her father to give him permanent employment 
in one of his ships, she showed Billy to the door, and 
bade him be a good boy and take care of himself. 

Thereafter she recalled Fanny, and, for her benefit, 
re-enacted the whole scene between herself and 
Billy Towler, in a manner so graphic and enthusi- 
astic, as to throw that amiable creature into convul- 
sions of daughter, which bade fair to terminate her 
career in a premature fit of juvenile apoplexy. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


32f 


CHAPTER XX. 

MYSTERIOUS DOINGS. 

Disappointed, displeased, and sorely puzzled, Billy 
Towler took his way towards the harbour, with his 
hands thrust desperately into his pockets, and an 
unwonted expression of discontent on his counte- 
nance. So deeply did he take the matter to heart, 
that he suffered one small boy to inquire patheti- 
cally “if 'ed bin long in that state o’ grumps?” 
and another to suggest that “ if ’e couldn’t be happier 
than that, ’ed better go an’ drown hisself ,” without 
vouchsafing a retort, or even a glance of recognition. 

Passing the harbour, he went down to the beach, 
and there unexpectedly met with Mr. Morley J ones. 

“ Hallo ! my young bantam,” exclaimed Morley, 
with a look of surprise. 

“ Well, old Cochin-china, wot ’s up ?” replied Billy, 
in a gruff tone. “ Drunk as usual, I see.” 

Being somevliat desperate, the boy did not see, 
or did not mind the savage glance with which Mr. 


326 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Jones, favoured him. The glance was, however, ex- 
changed quickly for an idiotic smile, as he retorted — 

“ Well, I ain’t so drunk but I can see to steer 
my course, lad. Come, I ’ve got a noo boat, what 
d’ ye say to go an’ have a sail ? The fact is, Billy, I 
was just on my way up to the house to ax you to 
go with me, so it’s good luck that I didn’t miss 
you. Will ’ee go, lad ? ” 

At any other time the boy would have refused; 
but his recent disappointment in regard to the 
angelic nature of Katie still rankled so powerfully 
in his breast, that he swung round and said — 

“ Get along, then^-I ’m your man — it ’s all up now 
— never say die — in for a penny in for a pound,” 
and a variety of similar expressions, all of which 
tended to convince Mr. Jones that Billy Towler 
happened to be in a humour that was extremely 
suitable to his purposes. He therefore led him 
towards his boat, which, he said, was lying on the 
beach at Broadstairs all ready to shove off. 

The distance to Broadstairs was about two miles, 
and the walk thither was enlivened by a drunken 
commentary on the fallacy of human hopes in general 
on the part of Mr. Jones, and a brisk fire of caustic 
repartee on the part of Master Towler. 

A close observer might have noticed that, while 
these two were passing along the beach, at the base 
of the high cliffs of chalk running between Bamsgate 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


327 


and ..Broadstairs, two heads were thrust cautiously 
out of one of the small caverns or recesses which 
have been made in these cliffs by the action of the 
waves. The one - head bore a striking resemblance 
to that of Bobert Queeker, Esq., and the other to 
that of Mr. Larks. 

How these two came to be together, and to be 
there, it is not our business to say. Authors are 
fortunately not bound to account for everything 
they relate. All that we know is, that Mr. Queeker 
was there in the furtherance, probably, of his secret 
mission, and that Mr. Larks’ missions appeared to be 
always more or less secret. At all events, there they 
were together; fellow students, apparently, of the 
geology or conchology of that region, if one might 
judge from the earnest manner in which they stooped 
and gazed at the sands, and picked up bits of flint 
or small shells, over which they held frequent, and, 
no doubt, learned discussions of an intensely en- 
grossing nature. 

It might have been also noticed by a close ob- 
server, that these stoopings to pick up specimens, 
and these stoppages to discuss, invariably occurred 
when Mr. Jones and Master Billy chanced to pause 
or to look behind them. At last the boat was 
reached. It lay on the beach not far from the 
small harbour of Broadstairs, already surrounded by 
the rising tide. About the same time the geological 


328 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


and conchological studies of Messrs. Queerer and 
Larks coming to an end, these scientific men betook 
themselves suddenly to the shelter of a small cave, 
whence they sat watching, with intense interest, the 
movements of the man and boy, thus proving them- 
selves gifted with a truly Baconian -spirit of general 
inquiry into simple facts, with a view to future in- 
ductions. 

“ Jump in, Billy,” said Jones, “and don't wet your 
feet ; I can easily- shove her off alone ” 

Billy obeyed. 

“ Hallo ! wot have ’ee got here ?” he cried, touch- 
ing a large tarpaulin bag with his foot. 

“ Only some grub,” answered Jones, putting his 
shoulder to the bow of the boat. 

“ And a compass too ! ” cried Billy, looking round 
in surprise. 

“ Ay, it may come on thick, you know,” said 
Jones, as the boat’s, keel grated over the sand. 

“ I say, stop ! ” cried Billy ; “ you ’re up to some 
mischief; come, let me ashore.” 

Mr. Jones made no reply, but continued to push 
off the boat. Seeing this, the boy leaped overboard, 
but Jones caught him. For one instant there was 
a struggle ; then poor Billy was lifted in the strong 
man’s arms, and hurled back into the boat. Next 
moment it was afloat, and Jones leaped inboard. 
Billy was not to be overcome so easily, however 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


329 


He sprang np, and again made a leap over the gun- 
wale, but Jones caught him by the collar, and, after 
a severe struggle, dragged him into the boat, and 
gave him a blow on the head with his clenched fist, 
which stunned him. Then, seizing the oars, he 
pulled off. After getting well away from the beach 
he hoisted a small lug- sail, and stood out to sea. 

All this was witnessed by the scientific men in 
the cave through a couple of small pocket-telescopes, 
which brought the expression of- Jones’s and Billy’s 
countenances clearly into view. At first Mr. 
Queeker, with poetic fervour, started up, intent on 
rushing to the rescue of the oppressed; but Mr. 
Larks, with prosaic hardness of heart, held him 
forcibly back, and told him to make his mind easy, 
adding that Mr. Jones had no intention of doing 
the boy any further harm. Whereupon Queeker 
submitted with a sigh. The two friends then issued 
from the cave, shook hands, and bade each other 
goodbye with a laugh — the man with the keen grey 
eyes following the path that led to Broadstairs, while 
the lawyer’s clerk returned to Bamsgate by the 
beach. 

Meanwhile the sun went down, and the lanterns 
of the Goodwin, the Gull, and the South sandhcad 
floating lights went up. The shades of evening fell, 
and the stars came out — one by one at first ; then 
by twos and threes ; at last by bursts of constella- 


330 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


tions, until the whole heavens glowed with a 
galaxy of distant worlds. During all this time Mr. 
Jones sat at the helm of his little boat, and held 
steadily out to sea. The wind being light, he made 
small progress, but that circumstance did not seem 
to trouble him much. 

“ You ’d better have a bit supper, lad,” said Jones 
in a careless way. “ Of course you ’re welcome to 
starve yourself, if ’ee choose, but by so doin’ you ’ll 
only make yourself uncomfortable for nothing. 
You ’re in fop it now, an’ can’t help yourself.” 

Billy was seated on one of the thwarts, looking 
very savage, with his right eye nearly closed by the 
blow which had caused him to succumb. 

“ P’r’aps I mayn’t be able to help myself,” he 
replied, “ but I can peach upon you , anyhow.” 

“ So you can, my lad, if you want to spend eight 
or ten years in limbo,” retorted Jones, spitting out 
his quid of tobacco, and supplying its place with a 
new one. “ You and I are in the . same boat, Billy, 
whether ashore or afloat; we sink or swim to- 
gether.” 

No more was said for some time. Jones knew 
that the boy was in his power, and resolved to bide 
his time. Billy felt that he had at least the chance 
of being revenged if he chose to sacrifice himself, so 
he “ nursed his wrath to keep it warm.” 

About an hour afterwards a squall struck the boat* 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


331 


aud nearly capsized it; but Jones, who was quite 
sobered by that time, threw her head quickly into 
the wind, and Billy, forgetting everything else, leaped 
ap with his wonted activity, loosened the sail, and 
reefed it. The squall soon passed away, and left 
them almost becalmed, as before. 

“That was well done, Billy,” said Jones, in a 
cheerful tone ; “you ’d make a smart sailor, my lad.” 

Billy made no reply ; and, despite his efforts to 
the contrary, felt highly flattered. He also felt the 
pangs of . hunger, and, after resisting them for some 
time, resolved to eat, as it were, under protest. With 
a reckless^ wilful air, therefore, he opened the tar- 
paulin bag, and helped himself to a large “ hunk ” 
of bread and a piece of cheese. Whereupon Mr. 
Jones. smiled grimly, and remarked that there was 
nothing like grub for giving a man heart— except 
grog, he added, producing a case-bottle from his 
pocket and applying it to his mouth. 

“ Have a pull, lad ? Ho ! well, please yourself. 
I ain’t goin’ to join the temperance move myself 
yet,” said Jones, replacing the bottle in his pocket. 

The short squall having carried the boat nearer to 
the Gull lightship than was- desirable, Mr. Jones 
tried to keep as far off from her as possible, while 
the tide should sweep them past; but the wind 
having almost died away, he did nor succeed in 
this ; however, he knew that darkness would prevent 


332 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


recognition, so he thought it best not to take to the 
oars, but to hold on, intending to slip quietly by, 
not supposing that Billy would think it of any use 
to hail the vessel ; but Billy happened to think 
otherwise. 

“ Gull ahoy ! hoy ! ” he shouted at the top of his 
shrill voice. 

“Boat ahoy!” responded Jack Shales, who hap- 
pened to be on duty ; but no response was given to 
Jack, for the good reason that Jones had instantly 
clapped his hand on Billy’s mouth, and half- choked 
him. 

“ That ’s odd,” remarked Jack, after repeating his 
cry twice. “ I could swear it was the voice of that 
sharp little rascal Billy Towler.” 

“ If it wasn’t it was his ghost,” replied J erry Mac- 
Go wl, who chanced to be on deck at the time. 

** Sure enough it ’s very ghost- like,” said Shales, 
as the boat glided silently and slowly out of the 
circle of the lantern’s light, and faded from their 
vision. 

Mr. Jones did not follow up his act with further 
violence. He merely assured Billy that he was a 
foolish fellow, and that it was of no use to struggle 
against his fate. 

As time wore on, poor Billy felt dreadfully sleepy, 
and would have given a good deal for some of the 
grog in his companion’s case-bottle, but, resolving 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


333 


-to stand upon his dignity, would not condescend to 
ask < for it. At length he lay down and slept, and 
Jones covered him with a pilot-coat. 

No soft spot in the scoundrel's heart induced him 
to perform this act of apparent kindness. He knew 
the poor boy’s temperament, and resolved to attack 
him on his weakest point. 

When Billy awoke the day was just breaking. 
He stretched himself,. yawned, sat up, and looked 
about him with the confused air of one not quite 
awake. 

“ Hallo !” he cried gaily, “where on earth am I ?” 

“ You ain’t on earth, lad ; you ’re afloat,” replied 
Jones, who still sat at the helm. 

At once the boy remembered everything, and 
shrank within himself. As he did so, he observed 
the pilot -coat which covered him, and knew that it 
must have been placed where it was by Jones. His 
resolution to hold out was shaken ; still he did not 
give in. 

Mr. Jones now began to comment in a quiet good- 
natured way upon the weather and the prospects of 
the voyage (which excited Billy’s curiosity very 
much), and suggested that breakfast would not be a 
bad thing, and that a drop o’ rum might be agree- 
able, but took care never to make his remarks so 
pointed as to call for an answer. Just as the sun 
was 7 rising he got up slowly, cast loose the stays and 


334 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


halyards of mast and sail, lifted the mast out of its 
place, and deliberately hove the whole affair over- 
board, remarking in a quiet tone that, having served 
his purpose, he didn’t want mast or sail any longer. 
In the same deliberate way he unshipped the rudder 
and cast it away. He followed tins' up by throwing 
overboard one of the oars, and then taking the only 
remaining oar, he sculled and steered the boat there- 
with gently. 

Billy, who thought his companion must be either 
drunk or mad, could contain himself no longer. 

“ I say, old fellow,” he remarked, “ you ’re cornin’ 
it pretty strong ! Wot on earth are you up to, and 
where in all the world are ’ee goin’ to ? ” 

“ Oh come, you know,” answered Jones in a re- 
monstrative tone, “ I may be an easy-goin’ chap, but 
I can’t be expected to tell all my secrets except to 
friends.” 

“Well, well,” said Billy, with. a sigh, “it’s no use 
tryin’ to hold out. I ’ll be as friendly as I can ; 
only I tells you candid, I ’ll mizzle whenever I gits 
ashore. I ’m not agoin’ to tell no end o’ lies to 
please you any longer, so I give ’ee fair warning,” 
said Billy stoutly. 

“ All right, my lad,” said the wily Jones, who felt 
that having subdued the boy thus far, he would 
have little difficulty in subduing him still further, in 
course of lime, and by dint of judicious treatment ; 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


335 


“ I don’t want ’ee to tell lies on my account, an’ 
I ’ll let you go free as soon as ever we get ashore 
So now, let ’s shake hands over it, and have a glass 
o’ grog and a bit o’ breakfast.” 

Billy shook hands, and took a -sip out of the case- 
bottle, by way of clenching the -reconciliation. The 
two then had breakfast together, and, while this 
meal was in progress, Jones informed his little 
friend of the nature of the “ game ” he was engaged 
in playing out. 

“ You must know, my lad,” said Mr. Jones, “ that 
you and I have been- wrecked. We are the only 
survivors of the brig Skylark, which was run down 
in a fog by a large three-masted screw steamer on the 
night of the thirteenth — that’s three nights ago, 
Billy. The Skylark sank immediately, and every 
soul on board was lost except you and me, because 
the steamer, as is too often the case in such acci- 
dents, passed on and left us to our fate. You and 
I was saved by consequence of bein’ smart and 
gettin’ into this here small boat — which is one o’ the 
Skylark’s boats — only just in time to save ourselves ; 
but she had only one oar in her, and no mast, or 
sail, or rudder, as you see, Billy; nevertheless we 
managed to keep her goin’ with the one oar up to 
this time, and no doubt,” said Mr. Jones with a grin, 
“ we ’ll manage to keep her goin’ till we ’re picked 
up and carried safe into port.” 


336 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Billy’s eyes had opened very wide and very round 
as Mi. Jones’s description proceeded; gradually, as 
his surprise increased, his mouth also opened and 
elongated, but he said never a word, though he 
breathed hard. 

“ Now, Billy, my boy,” pursued Mr. Jones, “ I tell 
*ee all this, of course, in strict confidence. The Sky- 
lark, you must know, was loaded with a valuable 
cargo of fine herrings, worth about £200. There 
was 780 barrels of ’em, and 800 boxes. The brig 
was worth £100, so the whole affair was valued at 
£3 00. sterling.” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me,” said Billy, catching 
his breath, “ that there warn’t never no such a wessel 
as the Skylark ? ” 

“Never that I know of,” replied Jones with a 
smile, “except in my brain, and on the books o' 
several insurance companies.” 

Billy’s eyes and mouth grew visibly rounder, but 
he said nothing more, and Mr. Jones, renewing his 
quid, went on — 

“ Well, my lad, before this here Skylark left the 
port of London for Cherbourg, I insured her in no 
fewer than five insurance Companies. You ’ll under- 
stand that that ain’t regular, my boy, but at each 
office I said that the vessel was not insured in any 
other, and they believed me. You must know that 
a g^od deal of business is done by these Companies 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


337 


in good faith, which gives a chance to smart fellows 
like me and you to turn an honest- penny, d’ ye see ? 
They are pretty .soft, luckily.” 

Mr. Jones happened to he mistaken m this 
opinion, as the sequel will show, but Billy believed 
him at the time, and wondered that they were “ so 
green.” 

“ Yes,” continued Jones, counting on his fingers, 
“ I’m in for £300 with the Advance Company, and 
£300 with the Tied Harbours Company, and £225 
with the Home and Abroad Company, and £200 
with the Submarine Company, and £300 with the 
Friend-in-need Company — the whole makin’ a snug 
little sum of £1325. ‘In for a penny, in for a 
pound,’ is my motto, you see ; so, lad, you and I shall 
make our fortunes, if all goes well, and you only 
continue game and clever.” 

This last remark was a feeler, and Mr. Jones 
paused to observe its effect, but he could scarce 
refrain from laughter, for Billy’s eyes and mouth 
now resembled three extremely round O’s with his 
nose like a fat mark of admiration in the midst. 

A gusty sigh was all the response he gave, how- 
ever, so Mr. Jones continued — 

“We’ve been out about thirty hours, starvin’ 
in this here little boat, you and I, so now it ’s about 
time we wos picked up ; and as I see a vessel on our 
larboard-beam that looks like a foreigner, we ’ll throw 


338 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


the grub overboard, have another pull at the grog- 
bottle, and hoist a signal of distress.” 

In pursuance of these intentions Jones applied 
the case-bottle to his lips, and took a long pull, 
after which he offered it to Billy, who however 
declined. He then threw the bread-bag into the 
sea, and tying his handkerchief to the oar after 
the manner of a flag, set it up on end and awaited 
the result. 

The vessel alluded to was presently observed to 
alter its course and bear down on the boat, and now 
Billy felt that the deciding time had come. He sat 
gazing at the approaching vessel in silence. Was 
he to give in to his fate and agree to tell lies through 
thick and thin in order to further the- designs of Mr. 
Jones, or was he to reveal all the moment he should 
get on board the vessel, and take the consequences ? 
He thought of Katie, and resolved to give up the 
struggle against evil. Then Nora rose up in his 
mind’s eye, and he determined to do the right. Then 
he thought of transportation for a prolonged term of 
years, with which Jones threatened him, and he felt 
inclined to turn again into the wrong road to escape 
from that ; presently he remembered the Grotto, and 
the lessons of truth to God and man that he had 
learned there, and he made up his mind to fight in 
the cause of truth to the last gasp. 

Mr. Jones watched his face keenly, and came to 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


339 


the conclusion that he had., quelled the boy, and 
should now find him a willing and useful tool, but 
in order to make still more sure, he employed the 
few minutes that remained to him in commenting 
on the great discomfort of a convict’s life, and the 
great satisfaction that accrued from making one’s 
fortune at a single stroke. 

This talk was not without its effect. Billy wavered. 
Before he could make up his mind they were along- 
side the strange vessel, and next moment on her 
deck. Mr. Jones quickly explained the circum- 
stances of the loss of the Skylark to the sympathetic 
captain. Billy listened in silence, and, by silence, 
had assented to the falsehood. It was too late now 
to mend matters, so he gave way to despair, which 
in him frequently, if not usually, assumed the form 
of reckless joviality. 

While this spirit was strong upon him he swore 
to anything. He not only admitted the truth of 
all that his tempter advanced, but entertained the 
seamen with a lively and graphic account of the 
running down of the Skylark, and entered into 
minute particulars — chiefly of a comical nature — 
with such recklessness that the cause of Mr. Jones 
bade fair to resemble many a roast which is totally 
ruined by being overdone. Jones gave him a salu- 
tary check, however, on being landed next day at 
a certain town on the Kentish coast, so that when 


340 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


Billy was taken before the authorities, his state- 
ments were brought somewhat more into accord with 
those of his tempter. 

The wily Mr. Jones went at once with Billy to 
the chief officer of the coast-guard on that station, 
and reported the loss of his vessel with much minute- 
ness of detail — to the effect that she had sailed from 
London at noon of a certain date, at the quarter ebb 
tide, the sky being cloudy and wind sou’- west ; that 
the casualty occurred at five p.m. on the day follow- 
ing near the North Foreland Light, at half flood tide, 
the sky being cloudy and wind west-sou’-west ; that 
the vessel had sunk, and all the crew had perished 
excepting himself and the boy. This report, with 
full particulars, was sent to the Board of Trade. 
Mr. Jones then went to the agent for the Ship- 
wrecked Mariners’ Society and related his pitiful 
tale to him. That gentleman happening to be an 
astute man, observed some, discrepancies in the 
accounts given respectively by Billy and his master. 
He therefore put a variety of puzzling . questions, 
and took down a good many notes. Mr. Jones, 
however, had laid his plans so well, and gave such 
a satisfactory and plausible account of himself, that 
the agent felt constrained to. extend to him the aid 
of the noble Society which he represented, and by 
which so much good is done to sailors directly, and 
indirectly to the community at large. He paid 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


341 


their passage to London, but resolved to make some 
further inquiries with a view either to confirming 
or allaying his suspicions. 

These little matters settled, and the loss having 
been duly advertised in the newspapers, Mr. Jones 
set out for London with the intention of presenting 
his claims to the Insurance Companies. 

In the train Billy had time to reflect on the 
wickedness of which he had been guilty, and his 
heart was torn with conflicting emotions, among 
which repentance was perhaps the most powerful. 
But what, he thought, was the use of repentance 
now ? The thing was done and could not be undone. 

Could it not ? Was it too late to mend ? At the 
Grotto he had been taught that it was “ never too 
late to mend”^-but that it was sinful as well as 
dangerous to delay on the strength of that fact; 
that “ now was the accepted time, now the day of 
salvation.” When Billy thought of these things, 
and then looked at the stern inexorable face of the 
man by whom he had been enslaved, he began to 
give way to despair. When he thought of his good 
angel Nora, he felt inclined to leap out of the car- 
riage window and escape or die! He restrained 
himself, however, and did nothing until the train 
arrived in London. Then he suddenly burst away 
from his captor, dived between the legs of a magni- 
ficent railway guard, whose dignity and person were 


342 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


overthrown by the shock, eluded the ticket collector 
and several policemen, and used his active little 
legs so well that in a few minutes his pursuers lost 
him in a labyrinth of low streets not far distant 
from the station. 

From this point he proceeded at a rapid though 
less furious pace direct to the Grotto, where he 
presented himself to the superintendent with the 
remark that he had “ come back to make a clean 
breast of it.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS 


343 


CHAPTER XXL 

ON THE SCENT. 

Let us change the scene and put back the clock. 
Ah,- how many, hearts would rejoice if it were as 
easy to return on the track of Time in real life as 
it is to do so in a tale ! 

It was the evening of the day in which Jones and 
Billy went to sea in the little boat. Ramsgate, 
Mr. Durant’s supper-table, with Stanley Hall and 
Robert Queeker as guests. 

They were all very happy and merry, for Stanley 
was recounting with graphic power some of the 
incidents of his recent voyage. Mr. Durant was 
rich enough to take the loss of his vessel with great 
equanimity — all the more so that it had been fully 
insured. Mr. Queeker was in a state of bliss in 
consequence of having been received graciously by 
Fanny, whose soul was aflame with sentiment so 
powerful that she could not express it except through 
the medium of a giggle. Only once had Fanny 


344 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


been enabled to do full justice to herself, and that 
was when, alone with Katie in the mysterious 
gloom of a midnight confabulation, she suddenly 
observed that size and looks in men were absolutely 
nothing — less than nothing — and that in her estima- 
tion heart and intellect were everything ! 

In the midst of his mirth Mr. Durant suddenly 
turned to Queeker and said — 

“ By the way, what made you so late of coming 
to-night, Queeker ? I thought you had promised to 
come to tea.” 

“ Well, yes, but — a — that is,” stammered Queeker 
in confusion, “ in fact I was obliged to- keep an 
appointment in connection with the — the particular 
business — ” 

“ The secret mission, in short,” observed Katie, 
with a peculiar smile. 

“Well, secret mission if you choose,” laughed 
Queeker; “at all events it was that which prevented 
my getting here sooner. In truth, I did not expect 
to have managed to come so soon, but we came to 
the-boat — ” 

Queeker stopped short and blushed violently, 
feeling that he had slightly, though unintentionally, 
committed himself. 

Fanny looked at him, blushed in sympathy, and 
giggled. 

“ Oh, there *s a boat in the secret mission, is there ?’* 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


345 


cried .Stanley ; “ come, let us make a game of it. 
Was it an iron boat?” 

“ No,” replied Queeker,- laughing, for he felt that 
at all events he was safe in answering that question. 

“ Was it a wooden one ?” asked Katie. 

‘‘Well— we— ” 

“Was it a big one?” demanded Mr. Durant, 
entering into the spirit of the game. 

“ No, it was a little one,” said Queeker, still feel- 
ing safe, although anxious to evade reply. 

“ Was there a man in it ?” said Katie. 

Queeker hesitated. 

“And a Boy?” cried Stanley. 

The question was put unwittingly, but being so 
put Queeker stammered, and again blushed. 

Katie on the contrary turned pale, for her pre- 
viously expressed hope that there might be some 
connection between Queeker’s mission and Billy 
Towler’s troubles flashed into her mind. 

“ But was there a boy in it ?” she said, with a 
sudden earnestness that induced every one to look at 
her in surprise. 

“ Beally, I pray — I must beg,” said Queeker, " that 
you won’t make this a matter of even jocular inquiry. 
Of course I know that no one here would make 
improper use of any information that I might give, 
but I have been pledged to secrecy by my employers.” 

“ But,” continued Katie in the same anxious way 


346 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


as before, “it will not surely be a breach of con- 
fidence merely to tell me if the boy was a small, 
active, good-looking little fellow, with bright eyes 
and curly hair.” 

“ I am bound to admit,” said Queeker, “ that your 
description is correct.” 

To the amazement, not to say consternation, of 
every one, Katie covered her face with her hands 
and burst into tears, exclaiming in an agony of 
distress that she knew it ; she had feared it after 
sending him away; that she had ruined him, and 
that it was too late now to do anything. 

“ No, not too late, perhaps,” she repeated, suddenly 
raising her large beautiful eyes, which swam in tears ; 
“ oh papa, come with me up- stairs, I must speak 
with you alone at once.” 

She seized her astonished father by the hand and 
led him unresisting from the room. 

Having hurriedly related all she knew about Billy 
Towler, Morley Jones, and Kora, she looked up in his 
face and demanded to know what was to be done. 

“ Done, my dear child,” he replied, looking per- 
plexed, “ we must go at once and see how much can 
be rndone. You tell me you have Kora’s address. 
Well, we ’ll go there at once. 

“ But — but,” said Katie, “ Kora does not know 
the full extent of her father’s wickedness, and we 
want to keep it from her if possible.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


347 


“ A very proper desire to spare her pain, Katie, 
but in the circumstances we cannot help ourselves ; 
we must do what we can to frustrate this man’s 
designs and save the boy.” 

So saying Mr. Durant descended to the dining- 
room. He explained that some suspicious facts had 
come to his daughter’s knowledge which necessitated 
instant -action ; said that he was sorry Mr. Queeker 
felt it incumbent on him to maintain secrecy in 
regard to his mission, but that he could not think 
of pressing him to act in opposition to his convic- 
tions, and, dismissing his guests with many apolo- 
gies, went out with Katie in search of the abode of 
Kora Jones. 

Stanley Hall, w T hose curiosity was aroused by all 
that had passed, went down to take a walk on the 
pier by way of wearing it off in a philosophical 
manner. He succeeded easily in getting rid of this 
feeling, but he could not so easily get rid of the 
image of Katie Durant. He had suspected himself 
in love with her before he sailed for India; his 
suspicions were increased on his return to England, 
and when he saw the burst of deep feeling to which 
she had so re sently given way, and heard the genuine 
expressions of remorse, and beheld her sweet face 
bedewed with tears of regret and pity, suspicion was 
Swallowed up in certainty. 

He resolved then and there to win her, if he could, 


348 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


sind marry her ! Here a touch of perplexity assailed 
him, but he fought it off nobly. 

He was young, no doubt, and had no money, but 
what then? — he was strong, had good abilities, a 
father in a lucrative practice, with the prospect of 
assisting and ultimately succeeding him. That was 
enough, surely. 

The lodging which he had taken for a few days 
was retaken that night for an indefinite period, 
and he resolved to lay siege to her heart in due 
form. 

But that uncertainty which is proverbial in 
human affairs stepped within the circle of his life 
and overturned his plans. On returning to his 
rooms he found a telegram on the table. His father, 
it informed him, was dangerously ill. By the next 
train he started for home, and arrived to find that 
his father was dead. 

A true- narrative of any portion of this world’s 
doings must of necessity be as varied as the world 
itself, and equally abrupt in its transitions. From 
the lively supper-table Stanley Hall passed to the 
deathbed of his father. In like manner we must 
ask the reader to turn with us from the contempla- 
tion of Stanley’s deep sorrow to the observation of 
Queeker’s poetic despair. 

Maddened between the desire to tell all he knew . 
regarding the secret mission to Mr. Durant, and 


OF THE GOODWIN fc'ANDS. 


349 


the command laid on him by his employers to he 
silent, the miserable youth rushed frantically to his 
lodgings, without any definite intentions, but more 
than half inclined to sink on his knees before his 
desk, and look up to the moon, or stars, or, failing 
these, to the floating light for inspiration, and pen 
the direful dirge of something dreadful and desperate ! 
He had even got the length of the first line, and had 
burst like a thunderbolt into his room muttering — 

** Great blazing wonder of illimitable spheres,” 

when he became suddenly aware of the fact that his 
chair was occupied by the conchological friend with 
whom he had spent the earlier part of that day, who 
was no other than the man with the keen grey eyes. 

“What! still in the poetic vein?” he said, with 
a grave smile. 

“ Why — I — thought you were off to London !” 
exclaimed Queeker, with a very red face. 

“ I have seen cause to change my plan,” said Mr. 
Larks quietly. 

“ I ’in very glad of it,” replied Queeker, running 
his fingers through his hair and sitting down opposite 
his. friend with a deep sigh, “because I’m in the 
most horrible state of perplexity. It is quite evident 
to me that the boy is known to Miss Durant, for she 
went off into such a state when I mentioned him 
and described him exactly.” 


350 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“Indeed,” said Mr. Larks; “ h’m ! I know the hoy 
too.” 

“Do yon ? Why didn’t you tell me that?” 

“ There was no occasion to,” said the imperturbable' 
Mr. Larks, whose visage never by any chance con- 
veyed any expression whatever, except when he 
pleased, and then it conveyed only and exactly the 
expression that he intended. “ But come,” he con- 
tinued, “ let s hear all about it, and don’t quote any 
poetry till you have done with the facts.” 

Thus exhorted Queeker described the scene at the 
supper-table with faithful minuteness, and, on con- 
cluding, demanded what was to be done. 

“H’m!” grunted Mr. Larks. “They’ve gone to 
visit Nora Jones, so you and I shall go and keep 
them company. Come along.” 

He put on his hat and went out, followed by his 
little friend. 

In a lowly ill-furnished room in one of the poorest 
streets of the town, where rats and dogs and cats 
seemed to divide the district with poverty-stricken 
human beings, they found Nora sitting by the bed- 
side of her grandmother, who appeared to be dying. 
A large Family Bible, from which she had been read- 
ing, was open on her knee. 

Mr. Larks had opened the door and entered with- 
out knocking. He and Queeker stood in the passage 
and saw the bed, the invalid, and the watcher 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


351 


through an inner door which stood ajar. They could 
hear the murraurings of the old woman’s voice. She 
appeared to wander in her mind, for sometimes her 
words were coherent, at other times she merely 
babbled. 

“ 0 Morley, Morley, give it up,” she said, during 
one of her lucid intervals ; “ it has been the curse 
of our family. Your grandfather died of it; your 
father — ah ! he vjcis a man, tall and straight, and so 
kind, till he took to it ; oh me ! how it. changed him ! 
But the Lord saved his soul, though he let the body 
fall to the dust. Blessed be His holy name for 
that. Give it up, Morley, my darling boy ; give it 
up, give it up — oh, for God’s sake give it up !” 

She raised her voice at each entreaty until it 
almost reached a shriek, and then her whole frame 
seemed to sink down into the bed from exhaustion. 

“Why don’t ’ee speak to me, Morley?” she re- 
sumed after a short time, endeavouring to turn her 
head round. 

“Dearest granny,” said Nora, gently stroking one 
of her withered hands, which lay on the counterpane, 
“ father is away just now. No doubt he will be 
back ere long.” 

“Ay, ay, lie’s always away; always away,” she 
murmured in a querulous tone ; “ always coming 
back too, but he never comes. Oh, if he would give 
it up— give it up — ” 


352 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


She repeated this several times, and gradually 
dwindled off into unintelligible mutterings. 

By this time Mr. Larks had become aware of 
whispering voices in a part of the room which he 
could not see. Pushing the door a little farther 
open he entered softly, and in a darkened corner of 
the apartment beheld Mr. Durant and Katie in 
close conversation with James Welton. They all 
rose, and Kora, seeing that the old woman had 
fallen into a slumber, also rose and advanced towards 
the strangers. Mr. Durant at once explained to her 
who Queeker was, and Queeker introduced Mr. 
Larks as a friend who had come to see them on 
important business. v 

“ I think we know pretty well what the business 
is about," said Jim Welton, advancing and address- 
ing himself to Mr. Larks, “ but you see,” he added, 
glancing towards the bed, “ that this is neither the 
time nor place to prosecute your inquiries, sir.” 

Mr. Larks, who was by no means an unfeeling 
man, though very stern, said that he had no inten- 
tion of intruding ; he had not been aware that any 
one was ill in the house, and he would take it as a 
favour if Mr. Welton would go outside and allow 
him the pleasure of a few words with him. Of 
course Jim agreed, but before going took Kora aside. 

“ I’ll not be back to-night, dearest,” he said in a 
low whisper. “ To-morrow, early, I ’ll return.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


35 £ 


"You will leave no stone unturned?” said Nora. 

* Not one. 1 11 do my best to save him.” 

"And you have told me the worst — told me alii** 
asked Nora, with a look of intense grief mingled 
with anxiety on her pale face. 

“ I have,” said Jim, in a tone and with a look so 
earnest and jtruthful that Nora required no further 
assurance. She gave him a kindly hut inexpressibly 
sad smile, and returned to her stool beside the bed. 
Her lover and Mr. Larks went out, followed by 
Queeker. 

“ We won't intrude on you longer to-night,” said 
Katie, going up to Nora and laying her hand quietly 
on her shoulder. 

“ Your visit is no intrusion,” said Nora, looking 
up with a quiet smile. “ It was love that brought 
you here, I know. May our dear Lord bless you 
and your father for wishing to comfort the heart of 
one who needs it so much — oh, so much.” She put 
her hands before her face and was silent. Katie 
tried in vain to speak. The tears coursed freely 
down her cheeks, but never a word could she utter. 
She put her arm round the neck of the poor girl 
and kissed her. This was a language which Nora 
understood ; — many words could not have expressed 
bo much; no words could have expressed more. 


z 


354 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTER XXII. 

MR. JONES IS OUTWITTED, AND NORA IS LEFT DISOLAT*. 

When Morley Jones found himself suddenly de- 
serted by his ally Billy Towler, he retired to the 
privacy of a box in a low public-house in Thames 
Street, and there, under the stimulus of a stiff glass of 
grog, consulted with himself as to the best mode of 
procedure under the trying circumstances in which 
he found himself placed. He thought it probable, 
after half an hour of severe meditation, that Billy 
would return to the Grotto, but that, for his own 
sake, he would give a false account of his absence, 
and say nothing about the loss of the Skylark. 
Feeling somewhat relieved in mind by his conclu- 
sions on this head, he drank off his grog, called for 
another glass, and then set himself to the considera- 
tion of how far the disappearance of the boy would 
interfere with his obtaining payment of the various 
sums due by the Insurance Offices. This point was 
either more knotty and difficult to unravel than the 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


355 


previous one, or the grog began to render his intellect 
less capable of grappling with it. At all events it 
cost him an hour to determine his course of action, 
and. required another glass of grog to enable him to 
put the whole matter fairly before his mental vision 
in one comprehensive view. This, however, accom- 
plished, he called for a fourth glass of grog “ for 
luck,” and reeled out of the house to carry out his 
deep-laid plans. 

His first act was to proceed to Greenwich, where 
a branch of his fish-curing business existed, or was 
supposed to exist. Here he met a friend who offered 
to . treat him. Unfortunately for the success of his 
schemes he accepted this rnffer, and, in the course of 
a debauch, revealed so much of his private affairs 
that the friend, after seeing him safely to his lodging, 
and bidding him an affectionate farewell, went up 
to London by the first boat on the following morn- 
ing, and presented himself to the managers of various 
Insurance Companies, to whom he made revelations 
which were variously received by these gentlemen ; 
some of them opening their eyes in amazement, 
while others opened their mouths in amusement, 
and gave him to understand that he was very much 
in the position of a man who should carry coals to 
Newcastle— they being then in possession of all the 
information given, and a great deal more besides. 

The manager of the Submarine Insurance Com- 


356 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


pany was the most facetious among these gentlemen 
on hearing the revelations of Mr. Jones’s friend.” 

“ Can you tell me,” said that gentleman, when 
he had pumped the “ friend ” dry, “ which of us is 
likely to receive the distinguished honour of the 
first visit from Mr. ^ones ?” 

“ He saii^^sSmmat about your own office, sir,” 
replied the informer ; “ leastwise I think he did, but 
I ain’t quite sartin.” 

“ H’m ! not unlikely,” observed the manager; “we 
have had the pleasure of paying him something 
before to-day. Come here, I will introduce you to 
an acquaintance of Mr. Jones, who takes a deep in- 
terest in him. He has just arrived from Eamsgate.” 

Opening a door, the manager ushered the informer 
into a small room where a stout man with peculiarly 
keen grey eyes was warming himself at the fire. 

“ Allow me to introduce you, Mr. Larks, to a friend 
of Mr. Jones, who may be of some use. 1 will leave 
you together for a little,” said the manager, with a 
laugh, as he retired and shut the door. 

It is not necessary that we should enter into 
details as to how Mr. Jones went about the business 
of drawing his nets ashore — so to speak, — and how 
those who took a special interest in Mr. Jones 
carefully assisted him, and, up to a certain point, 
furthered all his proceedings. It is sufficient to 
say that, about a fortnight after his arrival in: Lon- 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


# 357 


don — all the preliminary steps having been taken — ■ 
he presented himself one fine forenoon at the office 
of the Submarine Insurance Company. 

He was~received very graciously, and, much to his 
satisfaction, was told that the claim could now be 
settled without further delay. Former experience 
had taught him that such a piece of business was 
not unusually difficult of settlement, but he was 
quite eharmed by the unwonted facilities which 
seemed to be thrown in his way in regard to the 
present affair. He congratulated himself internally, 
and the manager congratulated him externally, so to 
speak, by referring to his good fortune in having 
insured the vessel and cargo to the full amount. 

Even the clerks of the establishment appeared to 
manifest unwonted interest in the case, which grati- 
fied while it somewhat surprised Mr. Jones. In- 
deed, the interest deepened to such an extent, and 
was so obtrusive, that it became almost alarming, 
so that feelings of considerable relief were experi- 
enced by the adventurous man when he at length 
received a cheque for £300 and left the office with 
it in his pocket. 

In the outer lobby he felt a touch on his arm, and, 
looking round, met t I/e gaze of a gentleman with 
peculiarly keen grey eyes. This gentleman made 
some quiet remarks with reference to Mr. Jones 
being “wanted,” and when Mr. Jones, not relishing 


358 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


the tone or looks of this gentleman, made a rash at 
the outer glass door of the office, an official stepped 
promptly in front of it, put one hand on the handle, 
and held up the other with the air of one who should 
say, “ Excuse me, there is no thoroughfare this way.” 
Turning abruptly to the left, Mr. Jones found him- 
self confronted by another grave gentleman of 
powerful frame and resolute aspect, who, by a species 
of magic or sleight of hand known -only to the 
initiated, slipped a pair of steel bracelets on Mr. 
Jones’s wrists, and finally, almost before he knew 
where he was, Mr. Jones found himself seated in a 
cab with the strong gentleman by his side, and the 
keen grey-eyed gentleman in front of him. 

Soon afterwards he found himself standing alone 
in the midst of an apartment, the chief character- 
istics of which were, that the furniture was scanty, 
the size inconveniently little, and the window un- 
usually high up, besides being heavily barred, and 
ridiculously small 

Here let us leave him to his meditations. 

One fine forenoon— many weeks after the capture 
of Morley Jones — Dick Moy, Jack Shales, and Jerry 
MacGowl were engaged in painting and repairing 
buoys in the Trinity store on the pier at Kamsgate. 
The two former were enjoying their month of ser- 
vice on shore, the latter was on sick-leave, but con- 
valescent Jack was painting squares of alternate 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


359 


black and white on a buoy of a conical shape. Dick 
was vigorously scraping sea-weed and barnailes off 
a buoy of a round form. The store, or big shed, was 
full of buoys of all shapes; some new and fresh, 
others old and rugged ; all of them would have 
appeared surprisingly gigantic to any one accustomed 
to see buoys only in their native element. The 
invalid sat on the shank of a mushroom anchor, and 
smoked his pipe while he affected to superintend 
the work. 

“ Sure I pity the poor craturs as is always sick. 

The mouth o' man can niver tell the blessedness of 
. { 

bein’ well, as the pote says,” observed J erry, with a 
sigh, as he shook the ashes out of his pipe and pro- 
ceeded to refill it. “ Come now, Jack Shales,” he 
added, after a short pause, “ ye don’t call that square, 
do %e?” 

“ I ’ll paint yer nose black if you don’t shut up,” 
said Jack, drawing the edge of a black square with 
intense caution, in order to avoid invading the 
domain of a white one. 

“ Ah ! you reminds me of the owld proverb 
that says somethin’ about asses gittin impudent an* 
becomin’ free with their heels when lions grow sick.” 

“Well, Jerry,” retorted Jack, with a smile, as he 
leaned back and regarded his work with his head 
very much on one side, and his eyes partially closed, 
after the manner of knights of the brush, “ I ’in not 


360 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


offended, "because I 'm just as much of an ass as yon 
are of a lion.” 

“ I say, mates,” remarked Dick Moy, pausing in 
his work, and wiping his brow, “are 'ee aweer tjhafc 
the cap'n has ordered us to be ready to start withe 
first o’ the tide at half after five to-morrow ?" 

“ I knows it,” replied Jack Shales, laying down 
the black brush and taking up the white one. 

“ I knows it too,” said J erry MacGowl, “ but it 
don't make no manner of odds to me, 'cause I means 
to stop ashore and enjoy meself. I mean to amoose 
meself with the trial o’ that black thief Morley 
Jones.” 

Dick Moy resumed his work with a grunt, and 
said that J erry was a lucky fellow to be so long on 
sick-leave, and Jack said he wished he had been 
called up as a witness in Jones’s case, for he would 
have cut a better figure than Jim Welton did. 


“ Ay, boy,” said Dick Moy, “ but there wos a 
reason for that. You know the poor feller is in -love 
wi- Jones's daughter, an' he didn’t like for to help to 
convict his own father-in-law to be , d' ye see ? That 's 
where it is. The boy Billy Towler was a most 
as bad. He's got a, weakness for the gal too, an' 
no wondei, for she 's bin as good as a mother to?im. 
They say that Billy nigh broke the hearts o' the 
lawyers, he wos so stoopid at sometimes, an' so 
oncommon 'cute at others. But it warn’t o' no use. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


361 


Jim's father was strong in his evidence agin him, an 
that Mr. Larks, as corned aboard of the Gull, you 
remember, he had been watching an’ ferreting about 
the matter to that extent that he turned Jones’s 
former life inside out. It seems lie’s bin up to 
dodges o’ that kind for a long time past.” 

“ No ! has he ?” said Jack Shales. 

“Arrah, didn’t ye read of it?” exclaimed Jerry 
MacGowl. 

“ko,” replied Jack drily; “not bein’ on the sick- 
list I han’t got time to read the papers, d’ ye see ?” 

“Well,” resumed Dick Moy, “it seems he has 
more than once set fire to his premises in Gravesend, 
and got the insurance money. Hows’ever, he has 
got fourteen years’ transportation now, an’ that’ll 
take the shine pretty well out of him before he 
comes back.” 

“How did the poor gal take it?” asked Jack. 

Dick replied that she was very bad at first, but 
that she got somewhat comforted by the way her 
father behaved to her and listened to her readin’ o’ 
the Bible after he was condemned. It might be that 
the death of his old mother had softened him a bit, 
for she died with his name on her lips, her last words 
being, “ Oh Morley, give it up, my darling boy, give 
it up ; it ’s your only chance to give it up, for you 
inherit it, my poor boy ; the passion and the poison 
are in yaur blood; oh, give it up, Morley, give it up!” 


362 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“They do say,” continued Dick, “that Jones 
broke down altogether w’en he heard that, an’ fell 
on his gal's necli an’ cried like a babby. But for my 
part I don’t much believe in them deathbed repent- 
ances — for it ’s much the same thing wi’- Jones now, 
lie bein’ as good as dead. It ’s not wot a man says , 
but how a man lives, as ’ll weigh for or against him 
in the end.” 

“An’ what more did he say?” asked Jerry Mac- 
Gowl, stopping down the tobacco in his pipe with 
one of his fire-proof fingers ; “ you. see, havin’ bin on 
the sick-list so long, I haven’t got up all the details 
o’ this business.” 

“ He didn’t say much more,” replied Dick, scraping 
away at the sea-weed and barnacles with renewed 
vigour, “ only he made his darter promise that she ’d 
marry Jim Welton as soon after he was gone as 
possible. She did nothing but cry, poor thing, and 
wouldn’t hear of it at first, but he was so strong 
about it, saying that the thought of her being so well 
married was the only thing as would comfort him 
w’en he was gone, that she gave in at last.” 

“ Sure then she ’ll have to make up her mind,” 
said J erry, “ to live on air, which is too light food 
intirely for any wan excep’ hummin’-birds and 
potes.” 

“ She ’ll do better than that, mate,” returned Dick, 
“ for Jim ’as got appointed to be assistant-keeper to 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


363 


a lighthouse, through that fust-rate gen’leman Mr. 
Durant, who island an’/ glove, I’m told, wi* the 
Elder Brethren up at the Trinity ’ouse. It ’s said 
that they are to be spliced in a week or two, but, 
owin’ to the circumstances, the weddin’ is to be kep’ 
quite prrvfete.” 

“ Good luck to ’em!” cried Jerry. “ Talkin’ of the 
Durants, I s’pose ye Ve heard f there ’s goin’ to 
be a weddin’ in that family soon ! ” 

“ Oh, yes, I ’ve heard on it,” cried Dick ; “ Miss 
Durant — Katie, they, calls her — she’s agoin’ to be 
spliced to the young doctor that was wrecked in the 
Wellington. A smart man that. They say ’ee has 
stepped into ’is father’s shoes, an’ is so much liked 
that ’ee ’s had to git an assistant to help him to get 
through the work o’ curin’ people — or-killin’ of ’em. 
I never feel rightly sure in my own mind which it 
is that the doctors does for-us.” 

“ Och, don’t ye know ?” said Jerry, removing his 
pipe for a moment, " they keeps curin’ of us as 
long as we ’ve got any tin, an’ when that ’s done 
they kills us off -quietly. If it warn’t for the doctors 
we’d all live to the age of Methoosamel, excep*, 
of coorse, w’en we was cut off* by accident or 
drink.” 

“Well, I don’t know as to that,” said Jack Shales, 
in a hearty manner ; “ but I ’m right glad to hear 
that Miss Durant is gettin’ a good husband, for 


364 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


she ’s the sweetest gal in England, I think, always 
exceptin’ one whom I don’t mean for to name just 
now. Hasn’t she been a perfect angel to the poor 
— especially to poor old men — since she come to 
Eamsgate? and didn’t she, before goin’ back to 
Yarmouth, where she bTongs to, make a beautiful 
paintin’ o’ the lifeboat, and present it in a gold 
frame, with tears in her sweet -eyes, to the coxswain 
o’Mthe boat, an’ took his Jbig fist in her two soft little 
hands, an’ shook an’ squeezed it, an’ begged him to 
keep the pictur’ as a very slight mark of the grati- 
tude an’ osteem of Dr. Hall ank herself — that was 
after they was engaged, you know ? Ah ! there ain’t 
many gals like her said Jack, with a sigh, “ always 
exceptin’ owe.” 

“ Humph ! ” said Dick Moy, “ I wouldn’t give my 
old ’ooman for six dozen of ’er.” 

“ Just so,” observed Jerry, with a grin, “ an’ I ’ve 
no maimer of doubt that Dr. Hall wouldn’t give her 
for sixty dozen o’ your old 'ooman. It’s human 
natur’, lad, — that ’s where it is, mates. But what 
has come o’ Billy Towler ? Has he gone back to the 
what ’s-’is-name — the Cavern, eh ? ” 

“ The Grotto, you mean,” said Jack Shales. 

“ Well, the Grotto — ’tan’t much differ.” 

“ He ’s gone back for a time,” said Dick ; “ but 
Mr. Durant has prowided for him too. He has given 
him a berth aboord one of his East-Indiamen ; so if 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


3C5 


Billy behaves hisself bis fortin ’s as good as made. 
Leastwise be bas got his Jtffc on tbe first round, an* 
tbe ladder ’s all -clear before him.” 

“ By the way, what ’s that I ’ve beard,” said Jack 
Shales, “ about Mr. Durant findin out that he ’d 
know’d Billy Towler some years ago ? ” 

“ I don’t rightly know,” replied Dick. “ I ’ve ’eerd 
it said that the old gentleman recognised him as a 
beggar boy ’e ’d tuck a fancy to an’ putk to school 
long ago; but Billy didn’t like the school, it seems, 
an’ runn’d away — w’ich I don’t regard as wery sur- 
prisin’ — an’ Mr. Durant could never find out where 
’e ’d run to. That ’s how I ’eerd the story, but wot ’s 
true of it I dun know.” 

“ There goes the dinner-bell ! ” exclaimed Jack 
Shales, rising with alacrity on hearing a neighbour- 
ing clock strike noon. 

Jerry rose with a sigh, and remarked, as he shook 
the ashes out of his pipe, and put it into his waist- 
coat pocket, that his appetite had quite left him ; 
that he didn’t believe he was fit for more than two 
chickens at one meal, whereas he had seen the day 
when he would have thought nothing of a whole leg 
of mutton to his own cheek. 

“Ah,” remarked Dick Moy, “Irish- mutton, I 
s’pose. Well, I don’t know ’ow you feels, but I 
feels so hungry that I could snap at a ring-bolt; and 
I know of a lot o’ child’n, big an’ small, as won’t 


36G 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


look sweet on their daddy if he keeps 'em waitin' 
for dinner, so come along, mates/' 

Saying this, Dick and his friends left the buoy- 
store, and walked smartly off to their several places 
of abode in the town. 

In a darkened apartment of that same town sat 
Nora Jones, the very personification of despair, on 
a low stool, with her head resting on the side of a 
poor bed. She was alone, and perfectly silent ; for 
some sorrows, like some thoughts, are too deep for 
utterance. Everything around her suggested abso- 
lute desolation. The bed was that in which not 
long ago she had been wont to smooth the pillow 
and soothe the heart of her old grandmother. It 
was empty now. The fire in the rusty grate had 
been allowed to die out, and its cold grey ashes 
strewed the hearth. Among them lay the fragments 
of a black bottle. It would be difficult to say what 
it was in the peculiar aspect of these fragments that 
rendered them so suggestive, but there was that 
about them which conveyed irresistibly the idea 
that the bottle had been dashed down there with 
the vehemence of uncontrollable passion. The little 
table which used to stand at the patient’s bedside 
was covered with a few crumbs and fragments of 
a meal that must, to judge from their state and 
appearance, have been eaten a considerable time 
ago ; and the confusion of the furniture, as well as 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


367 


the dust that covered everything, was strangely out 
of keeping with the character of the poor girl, who 
reclined by the side of the bed, so pale and still 
that, but for the slight twitching movement of her 
clasped hands, one might have supposed she had 
already passed from the scene of her woe. Even 
the old-fashioned timepiece that hung upon a nail 
in the wall seemed to be smitten with the pervading 
spell, for its pendulum was motionless, and its feeble 
pulse had ceased to tick. 

A soft tap at the door broke the deathlike silence. 
Nora looked up but did not answer, as it slowly 
opened, and a man entered. On seeing who it 
was, she uttered a low wail, and buried her face 
in the bed-clothes. Without speaking, or moving 
from her position, she held out her hand to Jim 
Welton, who advanced with a quick but quiet step, 
and, going down on his knees beside her, took the 
little hand in both of his. The attitude and the 
silence were suggestive. Without having intended 
it the young sailor began to pray, and in a few short 
broken sentences poured out his soul before God. 

A flood of tears came to Nora’s relief. After a 
few minutes she looked up. 

" Oh ! thank you, thank you, Jim. I believe 
that in the selfishness of my grief I had forgotten 
God ; but oh ! I feel as if my heart was crushed 
beyond the power of recovery. She is gone” (glancing 


368 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


at the empty bed), “ and he is gone — gone for 
ever.” 

Jim wished to comfort her, and tried to speak, 
but his voice was choked. He could only draw her 
to him, and laying her head on his breast, smooth 
her fair soft hair with his hard but gentle hand. 

“ Not gone for ever, dearest/’ he said at length with 
a great effort. “ It is indeed a long long time, but — ” 
He could not go further, for it seemed to him like 
mockery to suggest by way of comfort that fourteen 
years would come to an end. 

For some minutes the silence was broken only 
by an occasional sob from poor Nora. 

“ Oh ! he was so different once” she said, raising 
herself and looking at her lover with tearful, earnest 
eyes ; “you have seen him at his worst, Jim. There 
was a time, before he took to — ” 

She stopped abruptly, as if unable to find words, 
and pointed, with a fierce expression, that seemed 
strange and awful on her gentle face, to the frag- 
ments- of the broken bottle on the hearth. Jim 
nodded. She saw that he understood, and went on 
in her own calm voice : — 

“ There was a time when he was kind and gentle 
and loving ; when he had no drunken companions, 
and no mysterious goings to sea ; when he was the 
joy as well as the support of his mother, and so fond 
of me — but he was always that ; even after he had — ■" 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


369 


Again Nora- paused, and, drooping her head, 
Uttered the low wail of desolation that went like 
cold steel to the young sailor’s heart. 

“ Nora,” he said earnestly, “ he will get no drink 
where he is going. At all events he will he cured 
of that before he returns home.” 

“ Oh, I bless the Lord for that,” said Nora, with 
fervour. “ I have thought of that before now, and 
I have thought, too, that there are men of God 
where he is going, who think of, and pray for, and 
strive to recover, the souls of those who— that is — ; 
but oh, Jim, Jim, it is a long, long, weary time. I 
feel that I shall never see my father more in this 
world — never, never more !” 

“ We cannot tell, Nora,” said Jim, with a desperate 
effort to appear hopeful. “I know well enough 
that it may seem foolish to try to comfort you with 
the hope of seein’ him again in this life ; and yet 
even this may come to pass. He may escape, or he 
may be forgiven, and let off before the end of his 
time. But come, cheer up, my darling. You re- 
member what his last request was?” 

“ How can you talk of such a thing at such a 
time?” exclaimed Nora, drawing away from hhu 
and rising. 

“Be not- angry, Nora,” said Jim, also rising. “ I 
did but remind you of it for the purpose of say in’ 
that as you agreed to what he wished, you have 
2 A 


370 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


given me a sort of right or privilege, dear Nora, at 
least to help and look after you in your distress. 
Your own unselfish heart has never thought of tell- 
ing me that you have neither money nor home ; 
this poor place being yours only till term- day, which 
is to-morrow ; hut I know all this without requiring 
to be told, and I have come to say that there is an 
old woman — a sort of relation of mine — who lives 
in this town, and will give you board and lodging 
gladly till I can get arrangements made at the 
lighthouse for our — that is to say — till you choose, 
in your own good time, to let me be your rightful 
protector and supporter, as well as your comforter.” 

“Thank you, Jim. It is like yourself to be so 
thoughtful. Forgive me ; I judged you hastily. It 
is true I am poor — I have nothing in the world, 
but, thanks be to God, I have health. I can work ; 
and there are some kind friends,” she added, with a 
sad smile, “who will throw work in my way, I 
know.” 

“Well, we will talk about these things after- 
wards, Nora, but you won’t refuse to take advantage 
of my old friend’s offer— at least for a night or two?” 

“ No, I won’t refuse that, Jim ; see, I am prepared 
to go,” she said, pointing to a wooden sea-chest 
which stood in the middle of the room; “my box is 
packed. Everything I own is in it. The furniture, 
clock, and bedding belong to the landlord.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


371 


“ Come then, my own poor lamb,” said the young 
sailor tenderly, “ let us go.” 

Nora rose and glanced slowly round the room. 
Few rooms in Eamsgate could have looked more 
poverty-stricken and cheerless, nevertheless, being 
associated in her mind with those whom she had 
lost, she was loath to leave it. Falling suddenly on 
her knees beside the bed, she kissed the old counter- 
pane that had covered the dead form she had loved 
so well, and then went hastily out and leaned her 
head against the wall of the narrow court before the 
door. 

Jim lifted the chest, placed it on his broad 
shoulders and followed her. Locking the door 
behind him and putting the key in his pocket, he 
gave his disengaged arm to Nora, and led her slowly 
away. 


372 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

TELLS OF AN UNLOOKED-FOR RETURN, AND DESCRIBE*! A GREAT FEAST. 

If, as we have . elsewhere observed in this narra- 
tive, time and tide wait for no man, it is not less 
true that time and tide work wonderful changes in 
man and his affairs and .fortunes. Some of those 
changes we will now glance at, premising that seven 
years have passed away since the occurrence of the 
events recorded in our last chapter. 

On the evening of a somewhat gloomy day in the 
month of sunny showers, four men of rough aspect, 
and clad in coarse but not disreputable garments, 
stopped in front of a public-house in one of the 
lowest localities of London, and looked about them. 
There was something quite peculiar in their aspect. 
They seemed to be filled with mingled curiosity and 
surprise, and looked somewhat scared, as a bird does 
when suddenly set free from its cage. 

Two of the men were of an extremely low typo 
of humanity — low-browed and scowling — and their 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


373 


language betokened that their minds were in keep- 
ing with their faces. The other two were better- 
looking and better-spoken, one of them having evi- 
dently been a handsome man in his day. His hair 
was blanched as white as snow although it still 
retained the curls of youth. His figure was much 
bent, and he appeared like one who had been smitten 
with premature old age. 

“Well, uncommon queer changes bin goin* on 
here,” said one of the men, gazing round him. 

One of the others admitted that there certainly 
had been wonderful changes, and expressed a fear 
that if the change in himself was as great, his old 
pals wouldn’t know him. 

“ Hows’ever,” observed he who had spoken first, 
“they won’t see such a difference as they would 
have seen if we’d got the whole fourteen. Good 
luck to the ticket-of-leave system, say I.” 

The others laughed at this, and one of them sug- 
gested that they should enter the public-house and 
have a glass of grog in memory of old times. Three 
of the men at once agreed to this proposal, and said 
that as it would not be long before they were in the 
stone jug again it behoved them to make the most 
of their freedom while it lasted. The man with 
white hair, however, objected, and it was not until 
liis companions had chaffed and rallied him a good 
deal that he consented to enter the house, observing, 


374 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


as he followed them slowly, that he had not tasted 
a drop for seven years. 

“ Well, well,” replied one of the others, " it don’t 
matter ; you ’ll relish it all the more now, old feller. 
It ’ll go down like oil, an’ call up the memory of old 
times — ” 

“ The memory of old times !” cried the white- 
haired man, stopping short, with a sudden blaze of 
ferocity which amazed his companions. 

He stood glaring at them for a few moments, 
with his hands tightly clenched; then, without 
uttering another word, he turned round and rushed 
from the house. 

“ Mad !” exclaimed one of the other three, looking 
at his companions when they had recovered from 
their surprise, “ mad as a March hare. Hows’ever, 
that don’t consarn us. Come along, my hearties. — 
Hallo ! landlord, fetch drink here — your best, and 
plenty of it. Now, boys, fill up and I ’ll give ’ee a 
toast.” 

Saying this the man filled his glass, the others 
followed his example — the toast was given and 
drunk — more toasts were given and drunk — the three 
men returned to their drink and their old ways, and 
haunts and comrades, as the sow returns to her 
wallowing in the mire. 

Meanwhile the white-haired man wandered away 
as if he had no settled purpose. Day after day he 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


375 


moved on through towns and villages and fields, 
offering to work, but seldom being employed, beg- 
ging his bread from door to door, but carefully 
avoiding the taverns ; sleeping where he could, or 
where he was permitted — sometimes in the barn of 
a kindly farmer, sometimes under a hay-stack, not 
unfrequently under a hedge — until at last he found 
himself in the town of Bamsgate. 

Here he made inquiries of various people, and 
immediately set forth again on his travels through 
the land until he reached a remote part of the coast 
of England, where he found his further progress 
checked by the sea, but, by dint of begging a free 
passage from fishermen here and there, he managed 
at last to reach one of our outlying reefs, where, on 
a small islet, a magnificent lighthouse reared its white 
and stately column, and looked abroad upon the 
ocean, with its glowing eye. There was a small 
village on the islet, in which dwelt a few families 
of fishermen. They were a hard-working com- 
munity, and appeared to be contented and happy. 

The lighthouse occupied an elevated plateau above 
the cliffs at the sea-ward extremity of the isle, about 
quarter of a mile distant from the fishing village. 
Thither the old man wended his way. The tower, 
rising high above shrubs and intervening rocks, ren- 
dered a guide unnecessary. It was a calm evening. 
The path, which was narrow and rugged, wound its 


376 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


serpentine course amid grey rocks, luxuriant brambles, 
grasses, and flowering shrubs. There were no trees. 
The want of shelter on that exposed spot rendered 
their growth impossible. The few that had been 
planted had been cut down by the nor’-west wind 
as with a scythe. 

As he drew near to the lighthouse, the old man 
observed a woman sitting on a stool in front of the 
door, busily engaged with her needle, while three 
children — two girls and a boy — were romping on 
the grass plat beside her. The boy was just old 
enough to walk with the steadiness of an exceed- 
ingly drunk man, and betrayed a wonderful tendency 
to sit down suddenly and gaze — astonished ! The 
girls, apparently though not really twins, were just 
wild enough to enjoy their brother’s tumbles, and 
helped him to accomplish more of them than would 
have resulted from his own incapacity to walk. 

A magnificent black Newfoundland dog, with 
grey paws and a benignant countenance, couched 
beside the woman and watched the children at play. 
He frequently betrayed a desire to join them in 
their gambols, but either laziness or a sense of hia 
own dignity induced him to sit still. 

“ Nora,” called the mother, who was a young and 
exceedingly beautiful mother, “ Nora, come here ; 
go tell your father that I see a stranger coming up 
the path. Quick, darling.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS 


377 


Little Nora bounded away like a small fairy, with 
her fair curls streaming in the wind which her own 
speed created. 

“ Katie,” said the mother, turning to her second 
daughter, “ don’t rumple him up quite so violently. 
You must remember that he is a tiny fellow yet, 
and can’t stand such rough treatment.” 

“ But lie likes it, ma,” objected Katie, with a look 
of glee, although she obeyed the order at once. 
“ Don’t you, Morley ?” 

Little Morley stopped in the middle of an ecstatic 
laugh, scrambled upon his fat legs and staggered 
towards his mother, with his fists doubled, as if to 
take summary vengeance on her for having stopped 
the fun. 

“ Oh, baby boy ; my little Morley, what a wild 
fellow you are !” cried the mother, catching up her 
child and tossing him in the air. 

The old man had approached near enough to 
overhear the words and recognise tho face. Tears 
sprang to his eyes and ran down his cheeks, as he 
fell forward on the path with his face in the dust. 

At the same moment the lighthouse-keeper issued 
from the door of the building. Running towards 
the old man, he and his wife quickly raised him 
and loosened his neckcloth. His face had been 
slightly cut by the fall. Blood and dust besmeared 
it and soiled his white locks. 


378 


TIIE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ Poor old man !” said the keeper, as his mate 
the assistant light-keeper, joined him. “ Lend a 
band, Billy, to carry him in. He ain’t very heavy.” 

The assistant — a strapping young fellow, with 
a powerful, well-made frame, sparkling eyes and a 
handsome face, on which at that moment there was 
a look of intense pity — assisted his comrade to 
raise the old man. They carried him with tender 
care into the lighthouse and laid him on a couch 
which at that time, owing to lack of room in the 
building, happened to be little Nora’s bed. 

Tor a few moments he lay apparently in a state 
of insensibility, while the mother of the family 
brought a basin of water and began carefully to re- 
move the blood and dust which rendered his face 
unrecognisable. The first touch of the cold sponge 
caused him to open his eyes and gaze earnestly in 
the woman’s face — so earnestly that she was con- 
strained to pause and return the gaze inquiringly. 

“ You seem to know me,” she said. 

The old man made no reply, but, slowly clasping 
his hands and closing his eyes, exclaimed “ Thank 
God ! ” fervently. 

***** 

Let us glance, now, at a few more of the changes 
which had been wrought in the condition and cir- 
cumstances of several of the actors in this tale by 
the wonder-working hand of time. 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


379 


On another evening of another month in this same 
year, Mr. Bobert Queeker — having just completed an 
ode to a star which had been recently discovered by 
the Astronomer-Boyal— -walked from the door of 
the Fortress Hotel, Bamsgate, and, wending his way 
leisurely along Harbour Street, directed his steps 
towards St. James’s Hall. 

Seven years had wrought a great change for the 
better in Mr. Bobert Queeker. His once smooth 
face was decorated with a superb pair of light-brown 
whiskers of the stamp now styled Dundreary. His 
clothes fitted him well, and displayed to advantage 
a figure which, although short, was well made and 
athletic. It was evident that time had not caused 
his shadow to grow less. There was a jaunty, con- 
fident air about him, too, which might have been 
thought quite in keeping with a red coat and top- 
boots by his friends in Jenkinsjoy, and would have 
induced hospitable Mr. Stoutheart to let him once 
more try his fortune on the back of Slapover with- 
out much anxiety as to the result ; ay, even although 
the sweet but reckless Amy were to be his leader in 
the field ! Nevertheless there was nothing of the 
coxcomb about Queeker — no self-assertion; nothing 
but amiableness, self- satisfaction, and enthusiasm. 

Queeker smiled and hummed a tune to himself 
as he walked along drawing on his gloves, which 
were lavender kid and exceedingly tight. 


380 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“It will be a great night,” lie murmured; “a 
grand, a glorious night.” 

As there was nothing peculiarly grand in the 
aspect of the weather, it is to be presumed that he 
referred to something else, but he said nothing more 
at the time, although he smiled a good deal and 
hummed a good many snatches of popular airs as 
he walked along, still struggling with the refractory 
fingers of the lavender kid gloves. 

Arrived at St. James’s Hall, he took up a position 
outside the door, and remained there as if waiting 
for some one. 

It was evident that Mr. Queeker’s brief remark 
had reference to the proceedings that were going on 
at the hall, because everything in and around it, on 
that occasion, gave unquestionable evidence that 
there was to be a “ great night ” there. The lobby 
blazed with light, and resounded with voices and 
bustle, as people streamed in continuously. The in- 
terior of the hall itself glowed like a red-hot chamber 
of gold, and was tastefully decorated with flowers 
and flags and evergreens; while the floor of the 
room was covered with long tables, which groaned 
under the glittering accessories of an approaching 
feast. Fair ladies were among the assembling com- 
pany, and busy gentlemen, who acted the part of 
stewards, hurried to and fro, giving directions and 
keeping order. A large portion of the company com 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


381 


sisted of men whose hard hands, powerful frames, 
and bronzed faces, proclaimed them the sons of 
toil, and whose manly tones and holiday garments 
smacked of gales and salt water. 

“What he goin’ on here, measter?” inquired a 
country fellow, nudging Mr. Queeker with his elbow. 

Queeker looked at his questioner in surprise, and 
told him that it was a supper which was about to 
be given to the lifeboat -men by the people of the 
town. 

“ An’ who be the lifeboat-men, measter ?” 

“‘Shades of the mighty dead;’ not to mention 
the glorious living!” exclaimed Queeker, aghast; 
“ have you never heard of the noble fellows who 
man the lifeboats all round the coasts of this great 
country, and save hundreds of lives every year? 
Have you not read of their daring exploits in the 
newspapers ? Have you never heard of the famous 
Ramsgate lifeboat V* 

“ AVeU^ow ’ee mention it, I doo£ remember sum- 
maTaDoutf loif boats,” replied the country fellow, 
after pondering a moment or two ; “ but, bless ’ee, 


I never read nothin’ about ’em, not bein’ able to 

• *• •• 

/ead ; an’ as I ’ve lived all my loif fur inland, an’ 
on’y corned here to-day, it ain’t to be thow’t as I 
knows much about yer Ramsgate loif boats. Be 
there mony loif boat men in Ramsgate, measter?” 

“ My good fellow,” said Queeker, taking the man 


382 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


by the sleeve, and gazing at him with a look of 
earnest pity, “there are dozens of ’em. Splendid 
fellows, who have saved hundreds of men, women, 
and children from the raging deep ; and they are all 
to be assembled in this hall to-night, to the number 
of nearly a hundred-^— for there are to be present not 
only the men who now constitute the crew of the 
Kamsgate boat, but all the men who have formed 
part of her crew in time past. Every man among 
them is a hero,” continued Queeker, warming as he 
went on, and shaking the country fellow’s arm in his 
earnestness, “ and every man to-night will — * 

He stopped short abruptly, for at that moment a 
carriage drove up to the door, and a gentleman 
jumping out assisted a lady to alight. 

Without a word of explanation to the astonished 
country fellow, Queeker thrust him aside, dashed 
forward, presented himself before the lady, and, 
holding out his hand, exclaimed — 

“ How do you do, Miss Hennings ? I ’m so glad 
to have been fortunate enough to meet you.” 

“ Mr. Quee — Queeker,” exclaimed Fanny, blush- 
ing scarlet ; “ I — I was not aware — so very unex- 
pected — I thought — dear me I — but, pardon me — 
allow me to introduce my uncle, Mr. Hennings. 
Mr. Queeker, uncle, whom you have often heard 
mamma speak about.” 

Mr. Hennings, a six-feet-two man, stooped to 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


383 


shake Queeker by the hand. An impatient cabman 
shouted “ Move on.” Fanny seized her uncle’s arm, 
and was ted away. Queeker followed close, and all 
three were wedged together in the crowd, and swept 
towards the banquet-hall. 

“ Are you one of the stewards?” asked Fanny, dur- 
ing a momentary pause. 

How exquisite she looks ! thought Queeker, as she 
glanced over her shoulder at him. He felt inclined 
to call her an angel, or something of that sort, but 
restrained himself, and replied that he was not a 
steward, but a guest — an honoured guest — and that 
he would have no objection to be a dishonoured 
guest, if only, by being expelled from the festive 
board, he could manage to find an excuse to sit 
beside her in the ladies’ gallery. 

“ But that may not be,” he said, with a sigh. “ I 
shall not be able to see you from my allotted posi- 
tion. Alas ! we separate here — though — though — 
lost to sight, to memory dear !” 

The latter part of this remark was said hurriedly 
and in desperation, in consequence of a sudden rush 
of the crowd, rendering abrupt separation unavoid- 
able. But, although parted from his lady-love, and 
unable to gaze upon her, Queeker kept her steadily 
in his mind’s eye all that evening, made all his 
speeches to her, sang all his songs to her, and finally 
— but hold ! we must not anticipate. 


384 


THE FLOATING JJGHT 


As we have said — or, rather, as we have recorded 
that Queeker said — all the lifeboat men of the town 
of Kamsgate sat down to that supper, to the number 
of nearly one hundred men. All sturdy men of 
tried courage. Some were old, with none of the 
fire that had nerved them to rescue lives in days 
gone by, save that which still gleamed in their eyes ; 
some were young, with the glow of irrepressible 
enthusiasm on their smooth faces, and the intense 
wish to have a chance to dare and do swelling their 
bold hearts ; others were middle-aged, iron-moulded; 
as able and as bold to the full as the younger men, 
with the coolness and self-restraint of the old ones ; 
but all, old, middle-aged, and young, looking proud 
and pleased, and so gentle in their demeanour (owing, 
no doubt, to the presence of the fair sex), that it 
seemed as if a small breeze of wind would have 
made them all turn tail and run away, — especially 
if the breeze were raised by the women ! 

That the reception of these lion-like men (con- 
verted into lambs that night) was hearty, was 
evinced by the thunders of applause which greeted 
Jfcvery reference to their brave deeds. That their 
reception was intensely earnest, was made plain by 
the scroll, emblazoned on a huge banner that 
spanned the upper end of the room, bearing the 
words, “ God bless the Lifeboat Crews.” 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


385 


We need not refer to the viands set forth on that 
great occasion. Of course they were of the best. 
We may just mention that they included “ baccy and 
grog !” We merely record the fact. Whether buns 
and tea would have 'been equally effective is a ques- 
tion not now under consideration. We refrain from 
expressing an opinion on that point here. 

Of course the first -toast was the Queen, and as 
Jack always does everything heartily, it need 
scarcely be said that this toast was utterly divested 
of its usual formality of character. The chairman’s 
appropriate reference to her Majesty’s well-known 
sympathy with the distressed, especially with those 
who had suffered from shipwreck, intensified the 
enthusiasm of the loyal lifeboat- men. 

A band of amateur Christy Minstrels (the “ genu- 
ine original” amateur band, of course) enlivened the 
evening with appropriate songs, to the immense 
delight of all present, especially of Mr. Eobert 
Queeker, whose passionate love for music, ever 
since his attendance at the singing-class, long long 
ago, had strengthened with time to such an extent 
that language fails to convey any idea of it. Tt 
mattered not to Queeker whether the music were 
<»ood or bad. Sufficient for him that it carried him 
back, with a gusli , to that dear temple of music in 
Yarmouth where the learners were perpetually 
checked at critical points, and told by their callous 


386 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


teacher (tormentor, we had almost written) to ‘ try 
it again !” and where he first beheld the perplexing 
and beautiful Fanny. 

When the toast of the evening was given — 
“Success to the Kamsgate Lifeboat,” — it- was, as a 
matter of course, received with deafening cheers and 
enthusiastic waving of haudkerchiefs from the gal- 
lery in which the fair sex were- accommodated, 
among which handkerchiefs Queeker, by turning his 
head very much round, tried to see, and believed 
that he saw, the precious bit of cambric wherewith 
Fanny Hennings was accustomed to salute her tran- 
scendental nose. The chairman spoke with enthusiasm 
of the noble deeds accomplished by the Kamsgate 
lifeboat in time -past, and referred with pride, and 
with a touch of feeling, to the brave old coxswain, 
then present (loud cheers), who had been, compelled, 
by increasing years, to resign a service which, they all 
knew better than he did r taxed the energies, courage, 
and endurance of the stoutest and youngest man 
among them to the uttermost. He expressed-a firm 
belief in the courage and prowess of the coxswain who 
had succeeded him (renewed cheers), and felt assured 
that the success of the boat in time to -come would at 
the least fully equal its successes in time past. He 
then referred to some of the more prominent achieve- 
ments of the boat, especially to a night which all of 
them must remember, seven years ago, when the 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


387 


•Ramsgate boat, with the aid of the steam -tug, was 
the means of saving so many lives — not to mention 
property — and among others the life of their brave 
townsman, James Welton (cheers), and a young 
doctor, the friend, and now the son-in-law, of one 
whose genial spirit and extensive charities were 
well known and highly appreciated— he referred to 
Mr. George Durant (renewed cheers), whose niece 
at that moment graced the gallery with her presence. 

At this there was a burst of loud and prolonged 
applause which terminated in a roar of laughter, 
owing to the fact that Mr. Queeker, cheering and 
waving his hands in a state of wild enthusiasm, 
knocked the neck off a bottle of wine and flooded 
the. table in his immediate vicinity ! Covered with 
confusion, Queeker sat down amid continued laughter 
and rapturous- applause. 

The chairman then went on to say that the event 
to which he had referred^-the rescue of the crew 
and passengers of the Wellington on the night of 
the great storm — had been eclipsed by some of the 
more recent doings of the same boat; and, after 
touching upon some of these, said that, although they 
had met there to do honour to the crews of their 
own lifeboat, they must not forget other and 
neighbouring lifeboats, which did their work 
nobly— the brave crews of which were represented 
by the coxswains of the Margate and Broadstairs 


388 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


lifeboats, who sat at that hoard that night as hon- 
oured guests (loud cheers, during which several of 
the men nearest to them shook hands with the cox- 
swains referred to). He could not — the chairman 
went on to say — sit down without making special 
reference to the steam-tug, without which, and the 
courage as well as knowledge of her master, mate, 
and crew (renewed cheers), the lifeboat could not 
overtake a tenth part of the noble work which she 
annually accomplished. He concluded by praying 
that a kind Providence would continue to watch 
over and bless the Ramsgate lifeboat and her crew. 

We need scarcely add that this toast was drunk 
with enthusiastic applause, and that it was followed 
up by the amateur minstrels with admirable effect. 

Many songs were sung, and many toasts were 
proposed that night, and warm was the expression of 
feeling towards the men who were ever so ready to 
imperil their lives in the hope of saving those of 
their fellow-creatures, and who had already, often- 
times, given such ample proof that they were 
thoroughly able to do, as well as to dare, almost 
anything. Several singers with good, and one or 
two with splendid, voices, gave a variety of 
songs which greatly enhanced the brilliancy of the 
evening, and were highly appreciated in the gallery ; 
and a few bad singers with miserable voices (who 
volunteered their songs) did really good -service by 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


389 


impressing on the audience very forcibly the im- 
mense difference between good and bad music, and 
thus kindly acted as shadows to the vocal lights 
of the evening^-as useful touches of discord in the 
general harmony which by contrast rendered the 
latter all the sweeter. 

But of all .the solos sung that night none afforded 
such delight as a national melody sung by our friend 
Jerry MacGowl, in a voice that rang "out like the 
voices of three first-class bo’s’ns rolled into one. 
That worthy son of the Emerald Isle, and Dick 
Moy, and Jack Shales, happened to be enjoying their 
month on shore when the supper to the lifeboat-men 
was planned, and they were all there in virtue of 
their having been instrumental in saving life on 
more than one occasion during their residence in 
.Ramsgate. Jerry’s song was, as we have said, 
highly appreciated, but the applause with which it 
was greeted was as nothing * compared with the 
shouts and cheers that shook the roof of St. James’s 
Hall, when, on being asked to repeat it, Jerry 
modestly said that he “ would prefer to give them a 
duet — perhaps it was a tra^o — av his mates Jack 
Shales and Dick Moy would only strike in wW 
bass and tenor.” 

The men of the floating light then sang “ The 
Minute-Gun at Sea ” magnificently, each taking the 
part that suited him best or struck his fancy at the 


390 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


moment, and Jerry varying from tenor to bass and 
bass to treble according to taste. 

“Now, Mister Chairman,” said the bold Jerry 
MacGowl, when the cheers had subsided, “it’s 
my turn to call for a song, so I "ax Mr. Queeker to 
favour the company wid — ” Thunders of applause 
drowned the remainder of the sentence. 

Poor Queeker was thrown into great confusion, 
and sought to explain that he could not- sing, even 
in private — much less in public. 

“ Oh yes, you .can, sir. Try it, sir, no fear of ’ee. 
Sure it ’s yourself as can Mo it, an’ no mistake,” were 
the remarks with which his explanation was inter- 
rupted. 

“ I assure you honestly,” cried Queeker, “ that I 
cannot sing, but ” (here breathless silence ensued) “ if 
the chairman will kindly permit me, I will give you 
a toast.” 

Loud cheers from all sides, and a good-humoured 
nod from the chairman greeted this- announcement. 

“ Mr. Chairman and Friends,” said Queeker, “the 
ladies have — ” A perfect storm of laughter and 
cheers interrupted him for at least two minutes. 

“ Yes,” resumed Queeker, suddenly blazing up 
with enthusiasm, “ I repeat — the ladies — ” 

“That’s the girls, blissing on the swafci darlints,” 
murmured Jerry in a tone which set the whole 
table again in a roar. 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


391 


“ I echo the sentiment ; blessings on them,” said 
Queeker, with a good-humoured glance at Jerry. 
“ Yes, as I was going to say, I propose the Ladies, 
who are, always were, and ever will be, the solace 
of man’s life, the sweet drops in his otherwise bitter 
cup, the lights in his otherwise dark dwelling, the 
jewels in his — in his — crown, and the bright stars 
that glitter in the otherwise dark firmament of his 
destiny (vociferous cheering). Yes,” continued 
Queeker, waxing more and more energetic, and 
striking the table with his fist, whereby he over- 
turned his neighbour’s glass of grog, “yes, I re -assert 
it — the ladies are all that, and much more ! (Hear, 
hear.) I propose their health — and, after all, I may 
be said to have some sort of claim to do so, having 
already unintentionally poured a whole bottle of 
wine on the tablecloth as a libation to them ! 
(Laughter and applause.) What, l a s{£” continued 
Queeker, raising his voice and hand at the same 
moment, and setting his hair straight upon end, 
“ what, I ask, would man be without the ladies ?” 
(“ What indeed ?” said a voice near the foot of the 
table, which called forth another burst of laughter.) 
“ Just try to think, my friends, what would be the 
hideous gloom of this terrestrial ball if there were no 
girls ! Oh woman! softener of man’s rugged nature! 
What — in the words of the poet (he carefully re- 
frained from saying what poet !) — 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


:J ( J2 


“ What were earth and all its joys ; 

What were wealth with all its toys ; 

What the life of men and boys 

But for lovely woman ? 

What if mothers were no more ; 

If wives and sisters fled our shore, 

And left no sweethearts to the fore — 

No sign of darling woman ? 

What dreary darkness would ensue — 
What moral wastes devoid of dew — 

If no strong hearts of men like you 

Beat for charming woman ? 


Who would rise at duty’s call ; 

Who would fight to win or fall ; 

Who would care to live at all. 

Were it not for woman?” 

Prolonged and rapturous, cheers greeted this effusion, 
in the midst of which the enthusiastic Jerry Mac- 
Gowl sprang to his feet, waved his glass above his 
head — spilling half of its contents on the pate of a 
bald skipper who sat next to him — and cheered 
lustily. 

“ Men of the Eamsgate lifeboat,” shouted Queeker, 
“ I call on you to pledge the ladies— with all the 
honours !” 

It is unnecessary to say that the call was 
responded to with a degree of enthusiasm that 
threatened, as Dick Moy said to Jack Shales, “to 
smash all the glasses an’ blow the roof off.” In the 
midst of the noise and confusion Queeker left the 
hall, ascended to the gallery, and sat himself down 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


393 


beside Fanny Hennings, with an air of intense 
decision. 

“Oh, Mr. Queeker!” exclaimed Fanny. 

“ Listen, Fanny,” said the tall uncle at that 
moment, “ they are giving one of the most important 
toasts of the evenings— The Eoyal National Lifeboat 
Institution.” 

Fanny tried to listen, and had caught a few words, 
when she felt her hand suddenly seized and held 
fast. Turning her head quickly, she beheld the face 
of Queeker turned to bright scarlet. 

What more she heard or saw after that it would 
be extremely difficult to telL Perhaps the best 
way of conveying an idea of it is to lay before the 
reader the short epistle which Fanny penned that 
same night to her old friend Katie Hall. It ran 
thus : — 

“ Ramsgate. 

" Oh, Katie ! Darling Katie ! — He lias done it 
at last ! Dear fellow ! And so lika himself too — 
so romantically, so poetically ! They were toasting 
the Lifeboat Institution at the time. He seized my 
hand. * Fanny/ he said, in the deep manly tones in 
which he had just made the most brilliant speech 
of the evening, ‘Fanny, my love — my life — my 
lifeboat — will you have me? will you save me? 
There was a dreadful noise at the time — a very 
storm of cheering. The whole room seemed in a 


394 


TIlii FLOATING LIGHT 


whirl. . My head was in a whirl too ; and oh ! how 
my heart beat ! I don’t know what I said. I 
fear I burst into a fit of laughter, and then cried, 
and dear uncle carried me out — but it’s all over 
now. That darling Lifeboat Institution, I shall 
never forget it ; for they were sounding its. praises 
at the very moment when my Queeker and I got 
into the same boat^for life !^-Your happy 

“ Fanny.” 

To this the next post brought the following 
reply : — 

“ Yarmouth. 

“ My dearest Fanny, — Is it necessary for me to 
say that your last short letter has filled my heart 
with joy ? It has cleared up a mystery too ! On 
Tuesday last, in the forenoon, Mr. Queeker came by 
appointment to take lunch with us, and Stanley 
happened to mention that a supper was to be given 
to the Ramsgate lifeboat-men, and that he had heard 
you were to be there. During lunch, Mr. Queeker 
was very absent and restless, and appeared to be 
unhappy. At last he started up, made some hurried 
apology about the train for the south, and having 
urgent business to transact, looked at his watch, and 
rushed out of the house ! We could not understand 
it at the time, but I knew that he had only a few 
minutes left to catch the train for the south, and I 


0*’ THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


395 


now know that he caught it — and why ! Ah, 
Fanny, did I not always assure you that he would 
do it in desperation at last ! My earnest prayer is, 
that your wedded life may be as happy as mine has 
hitherto been. 

“When your honeymoon is over, you must pro- 
mise to pay us a visit. You know that our villa is 
sufficiently far out of town to warrant your regard- 
ing us in the light of country friends ; and Stanley 
bids me say that he will take no denial. Papa — 
who is at present romping round the room w T ith my 
eldest boy on his shoulders, so that I scarce know 
what I write — bids me tell you, with his kind love 
and hearty congratulations, that he thinks you are 
* not throwing yourself away, for that Queeker is a 
first-rate little fellow, and a rising man f Observe, 
please, that I quote papa’s own words. 

“ I must stop abruptly, because a tiny cry from the 
nursery informs me that King Baby is awake, and 
demands instant attention ! — With kindest love and 
congratulations, your ever affectionate, 

“Katie Hall.” 


396 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

CONCLUSION. 

Once again, and for the last time, we visit the 
floating light. 

It was a calm sunny evening, about the end of 
autumn, when the Trinity tender, having effected 
“the relief” of the old Gull, left her in order to 
perform the same service for her sister light-vessels. 

“Good-bye, Welton, good-bye, lads,” cried the 
superintendent, waving his hand as the tender’s 
boat pushed off and left them, for another period of 
duty, in their floating home. 

“ Good-bye, sir,” replied the mate and men, touch- 
ing their caps. 

“ Now, sir,” said Dick Moy to the mate, shortly 
after, when they were all,, except the watch, as- 
sembled below round the galley stove, “ are you goiri* 
to let us^ave a bit o’ that there letter, accordin’ to 
promise ? ” 

“ What letter ? ” inquired J ack Shales, who having 


OF TIIE GOODWIN SANDS. 


397 


only accomplished half of his period of service on 
board — one month — had not come off with his 
comrades, and knew little or nothing of what had 
occurred on shore. 

“ A letter from the lighthouse from Jim,” said 
the mate, lighting his pipe ; “ received it this fore- 
noon just as we were gettin’ ready to come off.” 

“ All well and hearty, I hope ? ” asked Jerry Mac- 
Gowl, seating himself on a bench, and rolling some 
tobacco between his palms, preparatory to filling 
his pipe. 

“ All well,” replied the mate, pulling out the letter 
in question, and regarding the address with much 
interest ; “ an’ strange news in }t.” 

“Well, then, let’s//ear \vof it’s all about,” said 
Dick Moy ; “ there ’s time to read it afore sunset, an’ 
it ain’t fair to keep fellers in all the -hagonies of 
bexpectation.” 

“That’s true enough,” said Jerry with a grin. 
" Arrah ! it ’s bustin I am already wid kooriosity. 
Heave ahead, sir, an’ be marciful.” 

Thus entreated, Mr. Welton glanced at his watch, 
sat down, and, opening his letter, read as follows : — 

“Dear Father, — Here we are, thank God, com- 
fortably settled in the new lighthouse, and Nora and 
I both agree that although it is more outlandish, it 
is much more cheerful in every way than our last 
abode, although it is very wild-like, and far from 


398 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


the mainland. Billy Towler, my assistant, — who 
has become such a strapping fellow that you’d 
scarce know him, — is also much pleased with it. 
The children, too, give a decided- opinion in favour 
of the place, and even the baby, little Morley, 
seems to know that he has made a change for the 
better ! 

“ Baby’s name brings me to the news that I ’ve 
got to tell you. Morley J ones has come back ! 
You ’ll be surprised to hear that, I daresay, but it ’s 
a fact. He got a ticket- of- leave, and never rested 
till he found out where Nora was. He came to us 
one evening some time ago, and fell down in a sort 
of fit close to the lighthouse- door, while Nora was 
sitting in front of it, and the children were romping 
with Neptune beside her. Poor fellow ! he was so 
changed, so old, and so white-haired and worn, that 
we did not know him at first ; but after we had 
washed the blood off his face — for he had cut himself 
when he fell — I recognised the old features. 

“ But he is -changed in other respects too, in a way 
that has filled my dear wife’s heart with joy. Of 
course you are- aware that he got no drink during 
the seven years of his imprisonment. Now that he 
is free he refuses to let a drop of anything stronger 
than water pass liis lips. He thinks it is his only 
chance, and I believe he is right. He says that no- 
thing but the thought of Nora, and the hope of one 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


399 


day being permitted to return to ask her forgiven |ss 
on his knees, enabled him to endure his long captivity 
with resignation. I do assure you, father, that it 
almost brings tears to my eyes to see the way in 
which that man humbles himself before his daughter. 
Nora’s joy is far too deep for words, but it is written 
plainly in her face. She spent all her spare time 
with him at first, reading the Bible to him, and try- 
ing to convince him that it was not the thought of 
her , but God’s mercy and love that had put it into 
his heart to repent, and desire to reform. He does 
not seem quite inclined to take that view of it, but 
he will come ta it, sooner or later, for we have the 
sure promise that the Lord will finish the good work 
He has begun. We have hired a room for him in a 
little village within half a mile of us. It is small, 
but comfortable enough, and he seems to be quite 
content with it — as well he may be, with Nora and 
the children going constantly about him ! 

“I tell you what, father, the longer I live with 
Nora, the more I feel that I have got the truest- 
hearted and most loveable wife in all the wide world ! 
The people of the village would go any length to 
serve her ; and as to their children, I believe they 
worship the ground she walks on, as Jerry Mac* 
Gowl used to say.” 

i' i 

“Och, the idolatrous haytliens !” growled Jerry. 

“And the way she manages our dear youngsters,” 


400 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


continued the mate, reading on, without noticing 
Jerry’s interruption, “ would do your heart good to 
see. It reminds me of Dick Moy’s wife, who is 
about the besD mother I ever met with — next to 
Nora, of course !” 

“ Humph !” said Dick, with a grim smile; “ wery 
complimentary. I wonder wot my old ooman'will 
say to that?” 

“ She ’ll say, no doubt, that she ’ll expect you to 
take example by Jim Welton when speaking of 
your wife,” observed Jack Shales. “ I wonder, Dick, 
what ever could have induced Mrs. Moy to marry 
such a fellow as you ?” 

“ I s’pose,” retorted Dick, lighting his pipe, f that 
it was to escape the chance o’ bein’ tempted, in a 
moment of weakness, to marry the- likes o’ you.” 

“ Hear, hear,” cried MacGowl, “ that ’s not un- 
likely, Dick. An’, sure, she might have gone farther 
an’ -fared worse. You ’re a good lump of a man, any- 
how; though you haven’t much to boast of in the 
way of looks. Howsever, it seems to me that looks 
don’t go far wid sensible girls. Faix, the^liglier a 

man. is, it’s the better chance he has o’-gittin’ a 
. .. & 

purty wife. I have a brother, myself, who ’s a dale 
uglier than the figurhead of an owdd Dutch galliot, 
an he ’s married the purtiesiD little girl in Ireland, 
he has.” 

“ If ye want to hear the end of Jim’s letter, boys, 


OF THE GOODWIN &ANDS. 


40] 


you'd better shut up your potato-trapi\,” interposed 
Mr. Weltorv 

“ That *s true — fire away,” said Shalea 

The mate continued to read. 

“ You *11 be glad to hear that the old dog Neptune 
is well and hearty. He is a great favourite here, 
especially with the children. Billy Toiler has 
taught him a number of tricks — among other things 
he can dive like a seal, and has no objection 
whatever to let little Morley choke him or half 
punch out his eyes. Tell mother not to be uneasy 
on that point, for though Neptune has the heart of 
a lion he has the temper of a lamb. 

“ There is an excellent preacher, belonging to the 
Wesleyan body, who comes here occasionally on 
Sundays, and has worship in the village. He is not 
much of a preacher, but he ’s an earnest, God-fear- 
ing man, and has made the name of Jesus dear to 
some of the people here, who, not long ago, were 
quite careless about their souls. Careless about 
their souls ! Oh, father, how often I think of that, 
now. How strange it seems that we should ever 
be thus careless ! What should we say of the 
jeweller who would devote all his time and care to 
the case that held his largest diamond, and neglect 
the gem itself? Nora has got up a Sunday school at 
the village, and Billy helps her with it. The Grotto 
did wonders for him — so he says himself. 

2 c 


402 


THE FLOATING LIGHT 


“ I must close this letter sooner than I intended, 
for I hear Nora’s voice, like sweet music in the dis- 
tance, singing out that dinner is ready; andif I 
keep the youngsters waiting long, they ’ll sing out 
in a sharper strain of melody ! 

“ So now, father, good-bye for the present. We 
all unite in sending our warmest love to dear mother 
and yourself. Kindest remembrances also to my 
friends in the floating light. As much of my 
heart as Nora and the children can spare is on board 
of the old "Gull. May God bless you all. — Your 
affectionate son, James W elton.” 

“ The sun will be down in a few minutes, sir,” 
said the watch, looking down the hatchway, while the 
men were engaged in commenting on Jim’s letter. 

“ I know that,” replied the mate, glancing at his 
timepiece, as he went on deck. 

The upper edge of the sun was just visible above 
the horizon, gleaming through the haze like a speck 
of ruddy fire. The shipping in the Downs rested on 
a sea so calm that each rope and mast and yard was 
faithfully reflected. Kamsgate — with the exception 
of its highest spires — was overshadowed by the 
wing of approaching night. The Goodwin Sands 
were partially uncovered ; looking calm and harm- 
less enough, with only a snowy ripple on their 
northern extremity, where they were gently kissed 


OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. 


403 


by the swell of the North Sea, and with nothing, 
save a riven stump or a half-buried stem-post, to 
tell of the storms and wrecks with which their name 
is so sadly associated. 

All around breathed of peace and tranquillity 
when the mate, having cast a searching glance round 
the horizon, leaned over the hatchway and shouted — 

“ Lights up !” 

The customary “Ay, ay, sir,” was followed by the 
prompt appearance of the crew. The winch was 
manned, the signal given, and, just as the sun went 
down, the floating light went up, to scatter its guid- 
ing and warning beams far and wide across the 
darkening waste of water. 


May our little volume prove a truthful reflector 
to catch up a few of those beams, and, diverting 
them from their legitimate direction, turn them in 
upon the shore to enlighten the mind and tickle the 
fancy of those who dwell upon the land — and thus, 
perchance, add another thread to the bond of sym- 
pathy already existing between them and those 
whose lot it is to battle with the winds, and live 
upon the sea. 

































































f 

































































































































































































































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hitherto unvalued details of a time which Americans of this generation at 
V-ast cannot read of without a fresh thrill of excitement.” 



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